1'ij"Vi'ii  i  lir'/'T.Yj'. 


•  ':::.-  ■' •■■•  -  ■>i---:; .5 


[THE  PATH 
OF  LIFE 

STUN  STREUVELS 


r 


Lssrj 


THE   PATH 
OF     LIFE 


\  jaAkUAlL*a&*liMAA. ', 


THE 
PATH    OF    LIFE 


BY 


STIJN    STREUVELS 

Translated  from  the  West-Flemish  by 
ALEXANDER    TEIXEIRA    DE    MATTOS 


NEW   YORK 
DODD,   MEAD    AND   COMPANY 

(All  rights  reserved) 


First  published  in    19 15 


Copyright  U*S.A.   by  Alexander 
Teixeira  de  Mattos,   1904-1915 

UNWIN  BROTHERS,  LIMITED,  PRINTERS,  WOKING  AND  LONDON 


J      •  •  • 

»     »     , 


TRANSLATOR'S    NOTE 

T  N  introducing  this  new  writer  to  the 
English-speaking  public,  I  may  be 
permitted  to  give  a  few  particulars  of 
himself  and  his  life.  Stijn  Streuvels  is 
accepted  not  only  in  Belgium,  but  also 
in  Holland  as  the  most  distinguished 
Low-Dutch  author  of  our  time :  his 
vogue,  in  fact,  is  even  greater  in  the 
North  Netherlands  than  in  the  southern 
kingdom.  And  I  will  go  further  and 
say  that  I  know  no  greater  living  writer 
of  imaginative  prose  in  any  land  or  any 
language.  His  medium  is  the  West- 
Flemish  dialect,  which  is  spoken  by  per- 
haps a  million  people  inhabiting  the 
stretch  of  country  that  forms  the  province 

5 

33030S 


Translator's  Note 

of  West  Flanders  and  is  comprised  within 
the  irregular  triangle  outlined  by  the 
North  Sea  on  the  west,  the  French  frontier 
of  Flanders  on  the  south  and  a  line  drawn 
at  one-third  of  the  distance  between  Bruges 
and  Ghent  on  the  east.  In  addition  to 
Bruges  and  Ostend,  this  province  of  West 
Flanders  includes  such  towns  as  Poperinghe, 
Ypres  and  Courtrai  ;  and  so  subtly  sub- 
divided is  the  West-Flemish  dialect  that 
there  are  words  which  a  man  of  Bruges 
will  use  to  a  man  of  Poperinghe  and  not 
be  understood. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  dialects 
known  to  me,  containing  numbers  of 
mighty  mediaeval  words  which  survive  in 
daily  use  ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  richest  : 
rich  especially — and  this  is  not  usual  in 
dialects — in  words  expressive  of  human 
characteristics  and  of  physical  sensations. 

Thus  there  is  a  word  to  describe  a  man 
6 


Translator's  Note 

who  is  not  so  much  a  poor  wretch,  un 
miserable,  as  what  Tom  Hood  loved  to 
call  u  a  hapless  wight  :  "  one  who  is  poor 
and  wretched  and  outcast  and  out  of 
work,  not  through  any  fault  of  his  own, 
through  idleness  or  fecklessness,  but 
through  sheer  ill-luck.  There  is  a  word 
to  describe  what  we  feel  when  we  hear 
the  tearing  of  silk  or  the  ripping  of 
calico,  a  word  expressing  that  sense  of 
angry  irritation  which  gives  a  man  a 
gnawing  in  the  muscles  of  the  arms,  a 
word  that  tells  what  we  really  feel  in  our 
hair  when  we  pretend  that  it  "stands  on 
end."  It  is  a  sturdy,  manly  dialect,  more- 
over, spoken  by  a  fine,  upstanding  race  of 
"chaps,"  "fellows,"  "mates,"  "wives," 
and  "women-persons,"  for  your  Fleming 
rarely  talks  of  "men"  or  "women." 
It  is  also  a  very  beautiful  dialect,  having 
many  words  that  possess  a  charm  all  their 
7 


Translator's  Note 

own.  Thus  monkelen,  the  West-Flemish 
for  the  verb  u  to  smile,"  is  prettier  and  has 
an  archer  sound  than  its  Dutch  equivalent, 
glimlachen.  And  it  is  a  dialect  of  suffi- 
cient importance  to  boast  a  special 
dictionary  {Westvlaamsch  Idiotikon,  by  the 
Rev.  L.  L.  De  Bo:  Bruges,  1873)  of 
1,488  small-quarto  pages,  set  in  double 
column. 

In  translating  Streuvels'  sketches,  I  have 
given  a  close  rendering  :  to  use  a  homely 
phrase,  their  flavour  is  very  near  the 
knuckle  ;  and  I  have  been  anxious  to  lose 
no  more  of  it  than  must  inevitably  be  lost 
through  the  mere  act  of  translation.  I 
hope  that  I  may  be  forgiven  for  one  or 
two  phrases,  which,  though  not  existing, 
so  far  as  I  am  aware,  in  any  country  or 
district  where  the  English  tongue  is 
spoken,  are  not  entirely  foreign  to  the 
genius  of  that  tongue.     Here  and  there, 


Translator's  Note 

but   only   where  necessary,    I   have  added 
an  explanatory  foot-note. 

For  those  interested  in  such  matters,  I 
may  say  that  Stijn  Streuvels'  real  name  is 
Frank  Lateur.  He  is  a  nephew  of  Guido 
Gezelle,  the  poet-priest,  whose  statue  graces 
the  public  square  at  Courtrai,  unless  indeed 
by  this  time  those  shining  apostles  of 
civilization,  the  Germans,  have  destroyed 
it.  Until  ten  years  ago,  when  he  began 
to  come  into  his  own,  he  lived  at  Avelghem, 
in  the  south-east  corner  of  West  Flanders, 
hard  by  Courtrai  and  the  River  Lys,  and 
there  baked  bread  for  the  peasant-fellows 
and  peasant-wives.  For  you  must  know 
that  this  foremost  writer  of  the  Nether- 
lands was  once  a  baker  and  stood  daily  at 
sunrise,  bare-chested,  before  his  glowing 
oven,  drawing  bread  for  the  folk  of  his 
village.  The  stories  and  sketches  in  the 
present  volume  all  belong  to  that  period. 
9 


Translator's  Note 

Of  their  number,  Christmas  Nighty  A 
Pipe  or  no  Tipe>  On  Sundays  and  The  End 
have  appeared  in  the  Fortnightly  Review , 
which  was  the  first  to  give  Stijn  Streuvels 
the  hospitality  of  its  pages ;  In  Early 
Winter  and  White  Life  in  the  English 
Review ;  The  White  Sand-path  in  the 
Illustrated  London  News;  An  Accident  in 
Everyman ;  and  Loafing  in  the  Lady's 
Realm.  The  remainder  are  now  printed 
in  English  for  the  first  time. 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA   DE   MATTOS. 

Chelsea,  tApril,   19 15. 


IO 


CONTENTS 


TRANSLATOR  S    NOTE 

5 

I. 

THE    WHITE    SAND-PATH 

•       15 

II. 

IN    EARLY    WINTER . 

•     35 

III. 

CHRISTMAS    NIGHT    . 

•     45 

IV. 

LOAFING 

.     61 

V. 

SPRING 

•     73 

VI. 

IN    THE    SQUALL 

•  193 

VII. 

A    PIPE    OR    NO    PIPE 

.  205 

VIII. 

ON    SUNDAYS 

.  213 

IX. 

AN    ACCIDENT 

.  225 

X. 

WHITE    LIFE 

.  247 

XI. 

THE    END      . 

•  *83 

11 


THE    WHITE    SAND-PATH 


THE   WHITE    SAND-PATH 

WAS  a  devil  of  a  scapegrace  in  my 
*  time.  No  tree  was  too  high  for  me, 
no  water  too  deep  ;  and,  when  there  was 
mischief  going,  I  was  the  ring-leader  of 
the  band.  Father  racked  his  head  for 
days  together  to  find  a  punishment  that  I 
should  remember  ;  but  it  was  all  no  good  : 
he  wore  out  three  or  four  birch-rods  on 
my  back  ;  his  hands  pained  him  merely 
from  hitting  my  hard  head  ;  and  bread 
and  water  was  a  welcome  change  to  me 
from  the  everyday  monotony  of  potatoes 
and  bread-and-butter.  After  a  sound 
drubbing  followed  by  half  a  day's  fast- 
ing, I  felt  more  like  laughing  than  like 
IS 


The  Path  of  Life 

crying  ;  and,  in  half  a  while,  all  was 
forgotten  and  my  wickedness  began 
afresh   and    worse   than    ever. 

One  summer's  evening,  I  came  home 
in  fine  fettle.  I  and  ten  of  my  school- 
fellows had  played  truant :  we  had  gone 
to  pick  apples  in  the  priest's  orchard  ; 
and  we  had  pulled  the  burgomaster's 
calf  into  the  brook  to  teach  it  to  swim, 
but  the  banks  were  too  high  and  the 
beast  was  drowned.  Father,  who  had 
heard  of  these  happenings,  laid  hold  of 
me  in  a  rage  and  gave  me  a  furious 
trouncing  with  a  poker,  after  which,  in- 
stead of  turning  me  into  the  road,  as 
his  custom  was,  he  caught  me  up  fair 
and  square,  carried  me  to  the  loft,  flung 
me  down  on  the  floor  and  bolted  the 
trap-door  behind  him. 

In  the  loft !  Heavenly  goodness,  in 
the  loft! 

Of  an  evening  I  never  dared  think 
of  the  place  ;  and  in  bright  sunshine 
16 


The  White  Sand-Path 

I  went  there  but  seldom  and  then  always 
in  fear. 

I  lay  as  dead,  pinched  my  eyes  to  and 
pondered  on  my  wretched  plight.  'Twas 
silent  all  around ;  I  heard  nothing, 
nothing.  That  lasted  pretty  long,  till 
I  began  to  feel  that  the  boards  were  so 
hard  and  that  my  body,  which  had  been 
thrashed  black  and  blue,  was  hurting  me. 
My  back  was  stiff  and  my  arms  and 
legs  grew  cold.  And  yet  I  nor  wished 
nor  meant  to  stir  :  that  was  settled  in  my 
head.  In  the  end,  it  became  unbear- 
able :  I  drew  in  my  right  leg,  shifted 
my  arm  and  carefully  opened  my  eyes. 
Twas  so  ghastly,  oh,  so  frightfully 
dark  and  warm  :  I  could  see  the  warm 
darkness ;  so  funny,  that  steep,  slanting 
tiled  roof,  crossed  by  black  rafters, 
beams  and  laths,  and  all  that  space 
beyond,  which  disappeared  in  the  dark 
ridgework :  'twas  like  a  deserted, 
haunted    booth    at    a     fair,    during    the 

17  B 


The  Path  of  Life 

night.  Over  my  head,  like  threaten- 
ing blunderbusses,  old  trousers  and 
jackets  hung  swinging,  with  empty  arms 
and  legs :  they  looked  just  like  fellows 
that  had  been  hanged  !  And  it  grew 
darker,  steadily  darker. 

My  eyes  stood  fixed  and  I  heard  my 
breath  come  and  go.  I  pondered  how 
'twould  end  here.  That  lasting  silence 
affrighted  me  ;  the  anxious  waiting  for 
that  coming  night  :  to  have  to  spend 
a  long,  long  night  here  alone !  My 
hair  itched  and  pricked  on  my  head. 
And  the  rats  !  I  gave  a  great  loud  scream. 
It  rang  in  anguish  through  the  sloping 
vault  of  the  loft.  I  listened  as  it  died 
away  .  .  .  and  nothing  followed.  I 
screamed  again  and  again  and  went  on, 
till  my  throat  was  torn. 

The  gruesome   thought   of  those   rats 

and    of  that  long   night   drove    me   mad 

with    fear.     I  rolled   about  on  the  floor, 

1    struck    out   with    my    arms   and    legs, 

18 


The  White  Sand-Path 

like  one  possessed,  in  violent,  childish 
fury.  Then,  worn  out,  I  let  my  arms 
and  legs  rest  ;  at  last,  tired,  swallowed 
up  in  my  helplessness,  left  without  will 
or  feeling,  I  waited  for  what  was  to 
come.  I  had  terribly  wicked  thoughts  : 
of  escaping  from  the  house,  of  setting 
fire  to  the  house,  of  murder !  I  was  an 
outcast,  I  was  being  tortured.  I  should 
have  liked  to  show  them  what  1  could  do, 
who  I  was  ;  to  see  them  hunting  for  me 
and  crying  ;  and  then  to  run  away,  always 
farther  away,  and  never  come  back  again. 

Downstairs,  the  plates  and  forks  were 
clattering  for  supper.  I  was  not  hungry  ; 
I  did  not  wish  nor  mean  to  eat.  I 
heard  soft,  quiet  voices  talking :  that 
made  me  desperate ;  they  were  not 
speaking  of  me !  They  had  no  thought 
nor  care  for  the  miscreant  ;  they  would 
liefst  have  him  dead,  out  of  the  way. 
And  I  was  in  the  loft ! 

Later,  very  much  later,  I  heard  my 
19 


The  Path  of  Life 

little  brother's  voice  saying  evening 
prayers — I  would  not  pray — and  then 
I  heard  nothing  more,  nothing ;  and  I 
lay  there,  upstairs,  lonely  and  forlorn.  .  .  . 
I  walked  all  alone  in  the  forest, 
through  the  brushwood.  'Twas  half-dark 
below ;  but,  above  the  bushes,  the  sun 
was  playing  as  through  a  green  curtain.  I 
went  on  and  on.  The  bushes  here  grew 
thick  now  and  the  tiny  path  was  lost. 
After  long  creeping  and  stumbling,  I 
leapt  across  a  ditch  and  entered  the 
wide  drove.  It  did  not  seem  strange 
to  me  that  'twas  even  darker  here  and 
that  the  light,  instead  of  from  above, 
came  streaming  low  down  from  between 
the  trunks  of  the  trees.  The  vault  was 
closed  leaf-tight  and  the  trunks  hung 
down  from  out  of  it  like  pillars.  'Twas 
silent  all  around.  I  went,  as  I  thought 
that  I  must  see  the  sun,  round  behind 
the  trunks,  half  anxious  at  last  to  get 
out  of  that  magic  forest ;  but  new  trees 

20 


The  White  Sand-Path 

kept  coming  up,  as  though  out  of  the 
ground,  and  hid  the  sun.  I  would  have 
liked  to  run,  but  felt  I  know  not  what 
in  my  legs  that  made  me  drag  myself  on. 
Far  beyond,  on  the  road-side  grass, 
sat  two  boys.  It  was  .  .  .  but  no,  they 
were  sitting  there  too  glumly  !  I  went 
up  to  them  and,  after  all,  knew  them 
for  Sarelke  and  Lowietje,  the  village- 
constable's  children.  They  sat  with 
their  legs  in  the  ditch,  their  elbows  on 
their  knees,  earnestly  chatting.  I  sat 
down  beside  them,  but  they  did  not 
even  look  up,  did  not  notice  me.  Those 
two  boys,  my  schoolmates,  the  worst  two 
scamps  in  the  village,  sat  there  like  two 
worn-out  old  fogies :  they  did  not  know 
me.  This  ought  to  have  surprised  me, 
and  yet  I  thought  that  it  must  be  right 
and  that  it  had  always  been  so.  They 
chatted  most  calmly  of  the  price  of 
marbles,  of  the  way  to  tell  the  best 
hoops,  of  buying  a  new  box  of  tin  soldiers  ; 

21 


The  Path  of  Life 

and  they  mumbled  their  words  as  slowly 
as  the  priest  in  his  pulpit.  I  became 
uncomfortable,  felt  ill  at  ease  in  that 
stifling  air,  under  that  half-dusk  of  the 
twilight,  where  everything  was  happening 
so  earnestly,  so  very  slowly  and  so  heavily. 
I,  who  was  all  for  sport  and  child's-play, 
now  found  my  own  chums  so  altered  ; 
and  they  no  longer  knew  me.  I  would 
have  liked  to  shout,  to  grip  them  hard 
by  the  shoulder  and  call  out  that  it 
was  1 :  1,  I,  I  !  But  I  durst  not,  or 
could  not. 

M  There — comes — the — keeper,"  droned 
Sarelke. 

Lowietje  looked  down  the  drove  with 
his  great  glassy  eyes.  The  two  boys 
stood  up  and,  without  speaking,  shuffled 
away.  I  saw  them  get  smaller  and  smaller, 
till  they  became  two  black,  hovering 
little  specks  that  vanished  round  the 
bend. 

I    was   alone   again !     Alone,    with    all 

22 


The  White  Sand-Path 

those  trees,  in  that  frightful  silence  all 
around  me.  And  the  keeper,  where  was 
he  ?  He  would  come,  I  knew  it ;  and  I 
felt  afraid  of  the  awful  fellow.  I  must 
get  away  from  this,  1  must  hide  myself. 
I  lay  down,  very  slowly,  deep  in  the 
ditch.  I  now  felt  that  I  had  been  long, 
long  dead  and  that  I  was  lying  here 
alone,  waiting  for  I  forget  what.  That 
keeper  :  was  there  such  a  person  ?  He 
now  seemed  to  me  an  awesome  clod  of 
earth,  which  came  rolling  down,  slowly 
but  steadily,  and  which  would  fall  heavily 
upon  me.  Then  he  turned  into  a  lovely 
white  ashplant,  which  stood  there  waving 
its  boughs  in  a  stately  manner.  I  would 
let  him  go  past  and  then  would  go  away. 
People  were  waiting  for  me,  I  had  to  be 
somewhere  :  I  tried  mightily  to  remember 
where,  but  could  not. 

The  keeper  did  not  come. 

The   ditch   was   cold,  the    bottom  was 
of  smooth,  worn  stone  and  very  hard.     I 
23 


The  Path  of  Life 

lay  there  with  gleaming  eyes  :  above  my 
head  stood  the  giant  oaks,  silently,  and 
their  knotted  branches  ran  up  and  were 
lost  in  the  dark  sky. 

The  keeper  came,  I  heard  his  coming  ; 
and  the  wind  blew  fearfully  through  the 
trees.     I  shivered.   .   .  . 

I  woke  with  fright  and  I  was  still 
lying  in  my  loft.  The  hard  bottom  of 
the  ditch  was  the  boarded  floor  and 
the  tree-trunks  were  the  legs  of  father's 
trousers  and  the  branches  ran  up  and 
were  lost  in  the  darksome  roofwork. 
Two  sharp  rays  of  light  beamed  through 
the  shut  dormer-window.  It  must  be  day 
then  !  And  this  awful  night  was  past ! 
All  my  dismay  was  gone  and  a  bold 
feeling  came  over  me,  something  like  the 
feeling  of  gladness  that  follows  on  a  solved 
problem.  I  would  make  Lowietje  and 
Sarelke  and  all  the  boys  at  school  hark 
to  my  tale,  that  I  would  !  I  had  slept  a 
whole  night  alone  in  the  loft !  And  the 
24 


The  White  Sand-Path 

rats !  And  the  ghosts !  Ooh !  And 
not  a  whit  afraid  ! 

I  got  up,  but  that  was  such  a  slow 
business.  I  still  felt  that  dream  and 
that  slackness  in  my  limbs.  I  was  so 
stiff ;  that  heavy  gloom,  that  slow  pass- 
ing of  time  still  lingered — -just  as  in  my 
dream — in  my  slow  breathing.  I  still 
saw  that  forest  and,  shut  up  as  I  was, 
with  not  a  single  touchstone  for  my 
thoughts,  I  began  to  doubt  if  my  dream 
was  done  and  I  had  to  feel  the  trouser- 
legs  to  make  sure  that  they  were  not 
really  trees. 

Time  stood  still  and  there  was  no 
getting  out  of  my  mind  the  strange 
things  seen  in  that  dream-forest,  with 
those  earnest,  sluggish,  elderly  children 
and  that  queer  keeper.  'Twas  as  though 
some  one  were  holding  my  arms  and 
legs  tight  to  make  them  move  heavily, 
deadly  heavily  ;  and  I  felt  myself,  within 
my  head,  grown  quite  thirty  years  older, 

35 


The  Path  of  Life 

become  suddenly  an  old  man.  I  walked 
about  the  loft ;  I  wanted  to  make  my- 
self heard,  but  my  footsteps  gave  no  sound. 

I  grew  awfully  hungry.  Near  the 
ladder-door,  I  found  my  prison  fare.  I 
nibbled  greedily  at  my  crust  of  bread 
and  took  a  good  drink  of  water. 

I  now  felt  better,  but  this  doing 
nothing  wearied  me  ;  I  became  sad  and 
felt  sorry  to  be  sitting  alone.  If  things 
had  gone  their  usual  gait,  I  should  now 
be  with  my  mates  at  school  or  playing 
somewhere  under  the  open  sky  ;  and  that 
open  sky  now  first  revealed  all  its  delight- 
fulness.  The  usual  gait,  when  all  was 
said,  was  by  far  the  best.  .  .  .  All  alone 
like  this,  up  here.  .  .  .  Should  I  go 
down  and  beg  father's  pardon  ?  Then 
'twould  all  be  over  and  done  with.  .  .   . 

"  No  !  "  said  something  inside  me,  "  I 
stay  here !  " 

And  I  stayed. 

I  shoved  a  box  under  the  dormer- 
26 


The  White  Sand-Path 

window,  I  pushed  open  the  wooden 
shutter  .  .  .  and  there  !  Before  me  lay 
the  wide  stretch  in  the  blazing  sunlight ! 
My  eyes  were  quite  blind  with  it. 

Twas  good  up  here  and  funny  to  see 
everything  from  so  high  up,  so  endlessly 
far  !  And  the  people  were  no  bigger 
than  tiny  tadpoles  ! 

Just  under  my  dormer-window  came 
a  path,  a  white  sand-path  winding  from 
behind  the  house  and  then  running  for- 
wards to  the  horizon  in  a  line  straight 
as  an  arrow.  It  looked  like  a  naked 
strip  of  ground,  powdered  white  and 
showing  up  sharply,  like  a  flat  snake, 
in  the  middle  of  the  green  fields  which, 
broken  into  their  many-coloured  squares, 
lay  blinking  in  the  sun. 

This  path  was  deserted,  lonely,  as 
though  nor  man  nor  beast  had  ever 
trodden  it.  It  lay  very  near  the  house 
and  I  did  not  know  it  from  up  here  ; 
it  looked  now  like  a  long  strip  of  drab 
27 


The  Path  of  Life 

linen,  which  lay  bleaching  in  a  bound- 
less meadow.  And  that  again  suited  my 
loneliness  so  well !  At  last,  I  looked  and 
saw  nothing  more.     And  that  path  !  .  .  . 

Slowly,  overcome  by  that  silent,  rest- 
ful idleness,  I  fell  a-dreaming  ;  and  that 
path,  that  long,  white  path  seemed  to  me 
to  have  become  a  part  of  my  own  being, 
something  like  a  life  that  began  over 
there,  far  away  yonder  in  the  clear  blue, 
to  end  in  the  unknown,  here,  behind  the 
gable-end,  cut  off  at  that  fatal  bend. 

After  long  looking,  I  saw  something, 
very  far  off ;  it  came  so  slowly,  so  softly, 
like  a  thing  that  grows,  and  those  two 
little  black  patches  grew  into  two  romping 
schoolboys,  who,  rolling  and  leaping 
along,  came  running  down  the  white 
sand-path  and,  at  last,  disappeared  in  the 
bend  behind  the  gable-end. 

Then,  for  another  long  while,  nothing 
more,  nothing  but  sand,  green  and  sun- 
shine. 

28 


The  White  Sand-Path 

Later,  'twas  three  labourers,  who  came 
stepping  up  briskly,  with  their  gear  over 
their  shoulders.  Half-way  up  the  path, 
they  jumped  across  the  ditch  and  went  to 
work  in  the  field.  They  toiled  on,  with- 
out looking  up  or  round,  toiled  on  till 
I  got  tired  of  watching  and  tired  of  those 
three  stooping  men  and  of  seeing  that 
gleaming  steel  flicker  in  the  sun  and  go 
in  and  out  of  the  earth. 

When  now  'twas  mid-day  and  fiercely 
hot  in  my  loft,  my  three  labourers  sat 
down  behind  a  tree  and  ate  their  noon- 
day meal. 

I  went  to  the  loft-door  and  devoured 
my  second  crust  of  bread  and  took  a 
fresh  gulp  of  water. 

Very  calmly,  without  thinking,  lame 
with  the  heat  and  with  that  old-man's 
feeling  still  inside  me,  I  went  and  sat 
at  the  window. 

The  three  men  worked  on,  always, 
without  stopping. 

29 


The   Path  of  Life 

And  that  went  on,  went  on,  until  the 
evening  !  When  'twas  nearly  dark,  they 
gathered  up  their  tools,  jumped  over  the 
ditch,  walked  down  the  path  the  way  they 
had  come  and  disappeared  behind  the 
gable-end. 

Now  it  became  deadly. 

In  the  distance  appeared  a  great  black 
patch,  which  came  slowly  nearer  and 
nearer.  The  patch  turned  into  a  lazy, 
slow-stepping  ox,  with  a  jolting,  creaking 
waggon,  in  which  sat  a  little  old  man 
who  gazed  stupidly  in  front  of  him  into 
the  dark  distance.  The  cart  dragged 
along  wearily,  creeping  through  the  sand, 
and  first  the  ox,  then  the  little  fellow, 
then  the  waggon  disappeared  behind  the 
gable-end. 

Now  I  felt  something  like  fear  and  I 
shivered  :  the  evening  was  coming  so 
slowly,  so  sadly  ;  and  I  dared  not  think 
of  the  night  that  was  to  follow.  'Twas 
the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  fell 
30 


The  White  Sand-Path 

earnestly  a-thinking.  So  that  path  there 
became  a  life,  a  long-drawn-out,  earnest 
life.  .  .  .  That  was  quite  plain  in  my 
head ;  and  those  boys  had  rolled  and 
tumbled  along  that  path  ;  next,  those  big 
men  had  burdensomely,  most  burden- 
somely  turned  over  their  bit  of  earth  ; 
and  the  ox  and  the  little  old  fellow  had 
joggled  along  it  so  piteously.  .  .  .  That 
life  was  so  earnest  and  I  had  seen  it  all 
from  so  far,  from  the  outside  of  it :  I 
did  nothing,  I  took  no  part  in  it  and  yet 
I  lived  .  .  .  and  must  also  one  day  go 
along  that  path  ! 

And  how  ? 

Getting  up  in  the  morning,  eating, 
playing,  going  to  school,  misbehaving, 
playing,  eating,  sleeping.  .  .   . 

The  mist  rose  out  of  the  fields  and  I 
saw  nothing  more. 

I  jumped  off  my  box,  begged  father's 
pardon  and  crept  into  bed. 

Never  again  was  I  shut  up  in  the  loft. 
3* 


IN    EARLY  WINTER 


II 

IN   EARLY   WINTER 

FIRST  the  leaves  had  become  pale, 
deathly  pale  ;  later  they  turned 
yellow-brown ;  and  then  they  went 
fluttering  and  flickering,  so  wearily,  so 
slackly,  like  the  wings  of  dying  birds  ; 
and,  one  after  the  other,  they  began  to 
fall,  dancing  gently  downwards,  in  eddies. 
They  whirled  in  the  air,  were  carried 
on  by  the  wind  and  at  last  fell  dead 
and  settled  somewhere  in  the  mud. 

Not  a  living  thing  was  to  be  seen 
and  the  cottages  that  sat  huddled  close 
to  the  ground  remained  fast  shut  ;  the 
smoke  from  the  chimneys  alone  still  gave 
a  sign  of  life. 

35 


The  Path  of  Life 

The  green  drove  now  stood  bare  and 
bleak  :  two  rows  of  straight  trunks  which 
grew  less  and  faded  away  in  the  blue 
mist. 

Yonder  comes  something  creeping  up : 
a  shapeless  thing,  like  two  little  black 
stripes,  with  something  else  ;  and  it 
approaches.  .  .  . 

At  last  and  at  length,  out  of  those 
little  stripes,  appear  a  man  and  a  wife  ; 
and,  out  of  the  other  thing,  a  barrel-organ 
on  a  cart,  with  a  dog  between  the  wheels. 

It  all  looked  the  worse  for  wear.  The 
little  fellow  went  bent  between  the  shafts 
and  tugged  ;  the  little  old  woman's  lean 
arms  pushed  against  the  organ-case  ;  and 
the  wheeled  thing  jolted  on  like  that 
over  the  cart-ruts,  along  the  drove  and 
through  the  wide  gate  of  an  honest  home- 
stead. 

A  flight  of  black  crows  sailed  across 
the  sky.  The  wind  soughed  through  the 
naked  tree-tops  ;  the  mist  rose  and 
36 


In  Early  Winter 

the  world  thinned  away  in  a  bluey  haze  ; 
this  all  vanished  and  slowly  it  became 
dark  black  night. 

Man,  woman  and  dog,  they  crept,  all 
three,  high  into  the  loft  and  deep  into  the 
hay  ;  and  they  dozed  away,  like  all  else 
outside  them  and  around.  Warm  they  lay 
there  !  And  dream  they  did,  of  the  cold, 
of  the  dark  and  of  the  sad  moaning 
wind  ! 

At  early  morning,  before  it  was  bright 
day,  they  were  on  the  tramp,  over  the 
fallow  fields,  and  drowned  in  a  huge  sea 
of  thick  blue  mist.  They  pulled  for  all 
they  could  :  the  little  fellow  in  the  shafts, 
the  little  old  woman  behind  the  cart  and 
the  dog,  with  his  head  to  the  ground, 
for  the  road's  sake. 

A  red  glow  broke  in  the  east  and  a 
new  day  brightened.  'Twas  all  white, 
snow-white,  as  if  the  blue  mist  had 
bleached,  melted  and  stuck  fast  on  the 
black  fields,  on  the  half-withered  autumn 
37 


The  Path  of  Life 

fruits  and  on  the  dark  fretwork  of  the  trees. 
Great  drops  dripped  from  the  boughs. 

From  under  the  peak  of  his  cap,  the 
fellow  peered  into  the  distance  with  his 
one  eye,  and  he  saw  a  church  and  houses. 
They  went  that  way. 

'Twas  low-roofed  cottages  they  saw, 
all  covered  with  hoar-frost ;  here  and 
there  stood  one  alone  and  then  a  whole 
little  row,  crowded  close  together  :  a 
street. 

They  were  in  the  village. 

It  was  lone  and  still,  like  a  cloister, 
with  here  a  little  woman  who,  tucked 
into  her  hooded  cloak,  crept  along  the 
houses  to  the  church  ;  there  a  smith  who 
hammered  .  .  .  and  the  little  church-bell, 
which  tinkled  over  the  house-tops. 

They  stopped.  The  dog  sat  down  to 
look.  The  little  fellow  threw  off  his 
shoulder-strap,  pulled  his  cap  down  lower 
and  felt  under  the  red-brown  organ-cloth 
for  the  handle.  He  gave  a  look  at  the 
38 


In  Early  Winter 

houses  that  stood  before  him,  pinched 
his  sunken  mouth,  wiped  the  seam 
of  his  sleeve  over  his  face  and  started 
grinding.  Half-numbed  sounds  came 
trickling  into  the  chill  street  from  under 
the  organ-cloth  :  a  sad — once,  perhaps, 
dance-provoking — tune,  which  now,  false, 
dragging  and  twisted  out  of  shape,  was  like 
a  muddled  crawling  of  sounds  all  jumbled 
up  together  ;  some  came  too  soon,  the 
others  too  late,  as  in  a  weariful  dream  ; 
and,  in  between,  a  sighing  and  creaking 
which  came  from  very  deep  down,  at  each 
third  or  fourth  turn,  and  was  deadened 
again  at  once  in  those  ever-recurring 
rough  organ-sounds  or  dragged  on  and 
deafened  in  a  mad  dance.  'Twas  like  a 
poor  little  huddled  soul  uttering  its  plaint 
amid  the  hullabaloo  of  rude  men  shout- 
ing aloud  in  the  street. 

The  dog  also  had  begun  to  howl  when 
the  tune  started. 

The  little  wife  had  settled  her  kerchief 
39 


The  Path  of  Life 

above  her  sharp-featured  old-wife's  face  ; 
and,  with  one  hand  in  her  apron- pocket 
and  the  other  holding  a  little  tin  can, 
she  now  went  from  door  to  door  : 

"  For  the  poor  blind  man.  .  .  .  God 
reward  you." 

And  this  through  the  whole  street  and 
farther,  to  the  farmhouses,  from  the  one 
to  the  other,  all  day  long,  till  evening 
fell  again  and  that  same  thick  mist  came 
to  wrap  everything  in  its  grey,  dark 
breath. 

And  again  they  wandered,  through  a 
drove,  to  a  homestead  and  into  the  hay. 

"  The  dog  has  pupped,"  said  the  little 
old  woman  ;  and  she  shook  her  man. 

"Pupped?  .  .  ." 

And  he  turned  in  the  nest  which  he 
had  made  for  himself,  pushed  his  head 
deeper  in  the  hay  and  drowsed  on.  He 
dreamt  of  dogs  and  of  pups  and  of 
organs  and  of  ear-splitting  yelps  and 
howls. 

40 


In  Early  Winter 

The  dog  lay  in  a  fine,  round  little 
nest  of  his  own,  rolled  into  a  ball  and 
moaning.  And  he  I  looked  so  sadly  and 
kindly  into  the  little  old  woman's  eyes  ; 
and  he  licked,  never  stopped  licking  his 
puppies.  They  were  like  three  red-brown 
moles,  each  with  a  fat  head  ;  they  wrig- 
gled their  thick  little  bodies  together  and 
sought  about  and  squeaked. 

When  the  tramps  had  swallowed  their 
slice  of  rye-bread  and  their  dish  of 
porridge,  they  went  on,  elsewhither.  The 
little  fellow  tugged,  the  little  old  woman 
pushed  and  the  dogs  hung  swinging 
between  the  wheels,  in  a  fig-basket.  So 
they  went  begging,  from  hamlet  to 
hamlet,  the  wide  world  through  :  an  old 
man  and  woman,  with  their  organ  ;  and 
a  dog  with  his  three  young  pups. 


Much  later.  .   .  . 

1  The  West-Fleming  talks  of  dogs  of  either  sex 
invariably  as  "  he." 

4i 


The  Path  of  Life 

The  thick  mist  had  changed  into 
bright,  glittering  dewdrops  and  the  sun 
shone  high  in  the  heaven.  Now  four 
dogs  lay  harnessed  to  the  cart,  four  red- 
brown  dogs.  And,  when  the  handle 
turned  and  the  organ  played,  all  those 
four  dogs  lifted  their  noses  on  high  and 
howled  uglily. 

Inside,  deep-hidden  under  the  organ- 
cloth,  sat  the  little  soul,  the  mysterious, 
shabby  little  organ-soul,  grown  quite 
hoarse  now  and  almost  dumb. 


42 


CHRISTMAS   NIGHT 


Ill 

CHRISTMAS   NIGHT 

OVER  there,  high  up  among  the  pines, 
stood  the  house  where  he  lived 
alone  with  the  trees  and  the  birds  ;  and 
there,  every  morning,  he  saw  the  sun 
rise  and,  in  the  evening,  sink  away  again. 
And  for  how  many  years  ! 

In  summer,  the  white  clouds  floated 
high  over  his  head  ;  the  blackbirds  sang 
in  the  wood  around  his  door  ;  and  before 
him,  in  a  blue  vista,  lay  the  whole 
world. 

When  his  harvest  was  gathered  and  the 

days  drew  in,  when    the    sky   closed  up, 

when  the  dry  pines  shook  and  rocked  in 

the  sad  wind  and  the  crows  dropped  like 

45 


The  Path  of  Life 

black  flakes  and  came  cawing  over  the 
fields,  he  closed  his  windows  and  sat 
down  in  the  dark  to  brood. 

He  must  go  down  yonder  now,  to 
the  village  below. 

He  fetched  his  Christmas  star  from  the 
loft,  restuck  the  gold  flowers  and  paper 
strips  and  fastened  them  in  the  cleft  of  the 
long  wand.  Then  he  put  on  his  great- 
coat, drew  the  hood  over  his  head  and 
went. 

From  behind  the  black  clouds  came 
a  light,  a  dull  copper  glow,  without  rays, 
high  up  where  the  stars  were  ;  it  set 
golden  edges  to  the  hem  of  the  clouds  ; 
the  heaven  remained  black.  There  ap- 
peared a  little  streak  of  glowing  copper, 
which  grew  and  grew,  became  a  sickle, 
a  half-disk  and  at  last  a  great,  round, 
giant  gold  moon,  which  rose  and  rose. 
It  went  up  like  a  huge  round  orange 
behind  the  heaven  and,  more  and  more 
swiftly,  shot  up  into  the  sky,  growing 
46 


Christmas  Night 

smaller  and  smaller,  till  it  became  just 
a  common  moon,  the  laughing  moon 
among  the  stars. 

He  alone  had  seen  it. 

Now  he  took  his  star  on  his  shoulder, 
pulled  his  hood  deep  over  his  head  and 
wandered  down  the  little  path,  all  over 
the  snow,  to  where  the  lights  were  burning. 
It  was  lonely,  lifeless,  that  white  plain 
under  that  burnished  sky  ;  and  he  was  all 
alone,  the  black  fellow  on  the  snow.  And 
he  saw  the  world  so  big,  so  monotonously 
bleak  ;  a  flat,  white  wilderness,  with  here 
and  there  a  straight,  thin  poplar  and  a 
row  of  black,  lean,  knotty  willows. 

He  went  down  towards  the  lights. 

The  village  lay  still.  The  street  was 
black  with  people.  Great  crowds  of 
womenfolk,  tucked  and  muffled  in  black 
hooded  cloaks,  tramped  as  in  a  dream 
along  the  houses,  over  the  squeaking 
snow.  They  shuffled  from  door  to  door, 
stuck  out  their  bony  hands  and  asked 
47 


The  Path  of  Life 

plaintively  for  their  God's-penny.  They 
disappeared  at  the  end  of  the  street  and 
went  trudging  into  the  endless  moonlight. 
Children  went  with  lights  and  stars 
and  stood  gathered  in  groups,  their  black 
faces  glowing  in  the  shine  of  their 
lanterns ;  they  made  a  huge  din  with 
their  tooting-horns l  and  rumble-pot 2 
and  sang  of 


The  Babe  born  in  the  straw 


and 


The  shepherds  they  come  here. 
They're  bringing  wood  and  fire 
And  this  and  that  and  t'other  : 
Now  bring  us  a  pot  of  beer. 

Mad  Wanne  went  alone ;  she  kept 
on  lurching  across  the  street  with  her 
long  legs,  which  stuck  out  far  from  under 
her  skirt,  and  held  her  arms  wide  open 

1  A  cow's  horn  fitted  with  a  mouthpiece. 

2  An  iron   pot    with  a  bladder  stretched   across 
the  top,  beaten  with  sticks,  like  a  drum. 

48 


Christmas  Night 

under  her  hooded  cloak,  like  a  demon  bat. 
She  snuffled  something  about  : 

'Twas    hailing,    'twas    snowing   and  'twas  bad 

weather 
And  over  the  roofs  the  wind  it  flew. 

Saint  Joseph  said  to  Mary  Maid  : 

"  Mary,  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

Top  l  Dras,  Wulf  and  Grendel,  three 
fellows,  tall  as  trees,  were  also  loafing 
round.  They  were  the  three  Kings  : 
Top  had  turned  his  big  jacket  and 
blackened  his  face  ;  Grendel  wore  a  white 
sheet  over  his  back  and  blew  the  horn  ; 
and  Wulf  had  a  mitre  on  and  carried  a 
great  star  with  a  lantern  on  a  stick.  So 
they  dragged  along  the  street,  singing 
at  every  door  : 

Three  Kings  with  a  star 
Came  travelling  from  afar, 

Over  mountains,  hills  and  dale, 
To  go  and  look 
In  every  nook, 

To  go  and  look  for  the  Lord  of  All. 
1  Beggar. 

49  O 


The  Path  of  Life 

Their  rough  voices  droned  and  three 
great  shadows  walked  far  ahead  of  them 
on  the  white  street-snow.  All  those 
people  came  and  went  and  twisted  and 
turned  and  came  and  went  again.  Each 
sang  his  own  little  song  and  fretted  his 
whining  prayer.  Above  all  this  rose 
the  dull  toot  of  the  baker's  horn,  as  he 
kept  on  shouting  : 

"  Hot  bread  !     Hot  bread  !  " 

High  hung  the  moon  and  blinked  the 
stars  ;  and  fine  white  shafts  fell  through 
the  air,  upon  everything  around,  like 
silver  pollen. 

"  Maarten  of  the  mountain !  "  whis- 
pered the  children  behind  the  window. 
"  Maarten   the   Freezyman  !  "  ! 

And  they  crept  back  into  the  kitchen, 
beside  the  fire. 

And   the  black  man  stood   outside  the 

1  A  legendary  figure  of  a  snow-covered  bogie,  who 
comes  down  to  the  villages  at  Christmas-time  and 
runs  away  with  the  children. 
5° 


Christmas  Night 

door,  tugging  at  the  string  of  his  twirling 
star,  and  sang  through  his  nose  : 

Come,  star,  come,  star,  you  must  not  so  still  stand  ! 
You  must  go  with  me  to  Bethlehem  Land, 
To  Bethlehem,  that  comely  city, 
Where  Mary  sits  with  her  Babe  on  her  knee.  .  .  . 

Along  the  country-roads,  the  farm- 
houses stood  snowed  in,  with  black 
window-shutters,  which  showed  dark 
against  the  walls  and  shut  in  the  light, 
and  stumpy  chimneys,  with  thick  smoke 
curling  from  them.  Indoors,  there  was 
no  seeing  clearly  :  the  lamp  hung  from  the 
ceiling  in  a  ring  of  steam  and  smoke  and 
everything  lay  black  and  tumbled.  In 
the  hearth,  the  yule-log  lay  blazing.  The 
farmer's  wife  baked  waffles  and  threw 
them  in  batches  on  the  straw-covered 
floor. 

In  one  corner,  under  the  light  and  wound 
from  head  to  foot  in  tobacco-smoke,  were 
the  farm-hands,  playing  cards.     They  sat 
5« 


The  Path  of  Life 

wrapped  up  in  their  game,  bending  over 
their  little  table,  very  quiet.  Now  and 
then  came  a  half-oath  and  the  thud  of 
a  fist  on  the  table  and  then  again  peace- 
ful shuffling  and  stacking  and  playing  of 
their  cards. 

The  Freezyman  sat  in  the  midst  of  the 
children,  who  listened  open-mouthed  to 
his  tale  of  The  Mighty  Hunter. 

His  star  stood  in  the  corner. 

Later,  the  big  table  was  drawn  out  and 
supper  served.  All  gathered  round  and 
sat  down  and  ate.  First  came  potatoes 
and  pork,  red  kale  and  pigs'  chaps, 
then  stewed  apples  and  sausages  .  .  .  and 
waffles,  waffles,  waffles.  They  drank  beer 
out  of  little  glass  mugs.  The  table  was 
cleared,  coffee  poured  out,  spirits  fetched 
from  the  cupboard  and  gin  burnt  with 
sugar.  Then  the  chairs  were  pushed 
close,  right  round  the  hearth,  and 
Maarten  stood  up,  took  his  star,  smoothed 
his  long  beard  and,  keeping  time  by 
52 


Christmas  Night 

tugging   the   string  of    his    star,    droned 
out : 

On  Christmas  night 

Is  Jesus  born 
To  fight  our  fight 
Against  the  night 

Of  Satan  and   his  devil-spawn. 
And  a  manger  is  His  cot 
And  all  humble  is  His  lot  ; 
So,  mortal,  make  you  humble,  too, 
To  serve  Him  IV ho  thus  served  you. 

Three  wise  men  and  each  a  king 

Come  to   make  Him  offering  ; 

Gold,  frankincense  and  myrrh  they  bring. 

Angels  sweet 

Kiss  His  feet, 

As  they  sing  : 

"  Hail,  Lord  and  King  !  " 
Telling  all  mankind  the  story 
Of  His  wonder  and  His  glory  ; 
So,  mortal,  make  you  humble,  too, 
To  serve  Him   Who  thus  served  you. 

All  else  was  still.     The  men  sat  drink- 
ing  their  hot    gin,   the   children    listened 
with    their    heads   on    one    side    and    the 
53 


The  Path  of  Life 

farmer's  wife,  with  her  hands  folded  over 
her  great  lap,  sat  crying. 

The  door  opened  and  the  Kings  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  They  were 
white  with  snow  and  their  faces  blue  with 
cold  ;  the  ice  hung  from  Grendel's  mous- 
tache. They  looked  hard  under  their  hats 
at  the  table,  the  hearth  and  the  little  glasses 
and  at  Maarten,  who  was  still  standing  up. 
Wulf  made  his  star  turn,  Top  banged  his 
rumble-pot  to  time  and  they  sang  : 

Three  Kings  came  out  of  the  East ; 
'Twas  to  comfort  Mary  .  .  . 

When  the  song  was  ended,  each  got 
two  little  glasses ;  then  they  could  go. 

Grendel  cursed  aloud. 

"  That  damned  hill-devil  swallows  it  all 
up,"  muttered  Wulf. 

And  they  went  off"  through  the  snow. 

The  others  sang  and  played  and  played 
cards  for  ever  so  long  and  'twas  late  when 
Maarten  took  his  star  and,  with  a  "Good- 
54 


Christmas  Night 

night  till  next  year,"  pulled  the  door 
behind  him. 

It  was  still  light  outside,  but  the  sky 
hung  full  of  snow  ;  above,  a  grey  fleece 
and,  lower,  a  swirl  of  great  white  flakes, 
which  fell  down  slowly  swarming  one  on 
top  of  the  other. 

He  plunged  deep  into  it.  .  .  .  It  was 
still  so  far  to  go  ;  and  his  house  and  his 
pines,  he  had  left  them  all  so  far  behind. 

He  was  so  old,  so  lone  ;  it  was  so  cold  ; 
and  all  the  roads  were  white  ...  all  sky 
and  snow.  In  the  hollow  lay  the  village : 
a  little  group  of  sleeping  houses  round 
the  white  church-steeple  ;  and  behind  it 
lay  his  mountain,  but  it  was  like  a  cloud, 
a  shapeless  monster,  very  far  away. 

Above  his  head,  stars,  stars  in  long 
rows.  He  stood  still  and  looked  up  and 
found  one  which  he  saw  every  evening, 
a  pale,  dead  star,  like  an  old  acquaintance, 
which  would  lead  him — for  the  last  time, 
perhaps — back  to  his  mountain,  back  home. 
55 


The  Path  of  Life 

And  he  trudged  on. 

There  was  a  light  in  the  three  narrow 
pointed  windows  of  the  chapel  and  the 
bell  tinkled  within.  He  went  to  rest  a 
bit  against  the  wall.  What  a  noise  and 
what  a  bustle  all  the  evening  .  .  .  and 
the  gin  !  And  those  rough  chaps  had 
looked  at  him  so  brutally.  In  there,  it 
was  still  ;  those  windows  gleamed  so 
brightly  ;  and,  after  the  sound  of  the  bell, 
there    came   so   softly  a    woman's  voice  : 

"  Venite  adoremus  .  .  ." 

Then  all  was  silence,  the  lights  went 
out.     And  he  fared  on. 

The  village  lay  behind  him  and  the 
road  began  to  climb.  There,  on  the 
right,  stood  "  The  Jolly  Hangman." 
Now  he  knows  his  way  and  'tis  no  longer 
far  from  home.  From  out  of  the  ditch 
comes  something  creeping,  a  black  shape 
that  runs  across  the  plain,  chattering 
like  a  magpie  :  Mad  Wanne,  with  her 
thin  legs  and  her  cloak  wide  open.  She 
56 


Christmas  Night 

ran  as  fast  as  she  could  run  and  vanished 
behind  the  inn. 

He  had  started  ;  he  became  so  fright- 
ened, so  uneasy,  that  he  hastened  his 
steps  and  longed  to  be  at  home. 

There  was  still  a  light  in  u  The  Jolly 
Hangman  "  and  a  noise  of  drunken  men. 
He  passed,  but  then  turned  back  again  .  .  . 
to  sing  his  last  song,  according  to  old 
custom.  They  opened  the  door  and 
asked  him  in.  He  saw  Grendel  sitting 
there  and  tried  to  get  away.  Then  the 
three  of  them  rushed  out  and  called  after 
him.  When  they  saw  that  he  went  on, 
they  broke  into  a  run  : 

"  Stop,  you  brute !  .  .  .  Here,  you 
with  your  star !  .  .  .  Oh,  you  damned 
singer  of  songs  !  M  they  howled  and  ran 
and  caught  him  and  threw  him   down. 

Grendel  dug    his  knee    into    his    chest 

and  held  his  arms  stretched   wide  against 

the   ground.       Wulf  and    Dras    gripped 

whole  handfuls  of  snow  and  crammed  it 

57 


The  Path  of  Life 

into  his  mouth  and  went  on  until  all  his 
face  was  thickly  covered  and  he  lay 
powerless.  Then  they  planted  his  star 
beside  him  in  the  snow  and  began  to 
turn  and  sing  to  the  echo  : 

A,  a,  a — glory  be  to  Him  on  high  to-day  ! 
E,  e,  e — upon   earth   peace  there  shall  be  ! 
/,  i,  i — come  and  see  with  your  own   eye  ! 
O,  0,  o — His  little  bed  of  straw  below  ! 

Like  a  flash,  Mad  Wanne  shot  past, 
yelling  and  shrieking.  Wulf  flung  his 
stick  against  her  legs.  She  waved  her  arms 
under  her  cloak  and  vanished  in  the  dark. 

The  three  men  sat  down  by  the  ditch 
and  laughed  full-throated.  Then  they 
started  for  the  village.     Long   it  rang  : 

Three  Kings  came  out  of  the  East  ; 
'Twas  to  comfort  Mary  .   .  . 

Great  white  flakes  fell  from  the  starry 
sky,  wriggled  and  swarmed,  one  on  top 
of  the  other. 

5« 


LOAFING 


IV 

LOAFING 

HE    went,  ever    on    the    move,    with 
the  slow,  shuffling  step  of  wander- 
ing beggars  who  are  nowhere  at  home. 

They  had  discharged  him,  some  time 
ago,  and  now  he  was  walking  alone  like 
a  wild  man.  For  whole  days  he  had 
dragged  himself  through  the  moorland, 
from  farm  to  farm,  looking  for  his  bread 
like  the  dogs.  Now  he  came  to  a  wide 
lane  of  lime-trees  and  before  him  lay  the 
town,  asleep.  He  went  into  it.  The 
streets  lay  dead,  the  doors  were  shut, 
the  windows  closed  :  all  the  people  were 
resting  ;  and  he  loafed.  It  was  dreary, 
to  walk  alone  like  that,  all  over  the 
61 


The  Path  of  Life 

country-side,  and  with  such  a  body  :  a 
giant  with  huge  legs  and  arms,  which 
were  doomed  to  do  nothing,  and  that 
belly,  that  craving  belly,  which  he  carried 
about  with  him  wherever  he  went. 

And  nobody  wanted  him  :  'twas  as 
though  they  were  afraid  of  his  strong 
limbs  and  his  stubborn  head — because  his 
glowing  eyes  could  not  entreat  meekly 
enough — and  his  blackguardly  togs.   .  .  . 

Morning  came  ;  the  working-folk  were 
early  astir.  Lean  men  and  pale  women, 
carrying  their  kettles  and  food-satchels 
in  their  hands,  beat  the  slippery  pave- 
ments with  their  wooden  shoes.  Doors 
and  windows  flew  open ;  life  began ; 
every  one  walked  with  a  busy  air,  knew 
where  he  was  going  ;  and  they  vanished 
here  and  there,  through  a  big  gate  or 
behind  a  narrow  door  that  shut  with  a 
bang.  Carts  with  green  stuff,  waggons 
with  sand  and  coal  drove  this  way  and 
that.  Fellows  with  milk  and  bread  went 
62 


Loafing 

round  ;  and  it  grew  to  a  din  of  calls  and 
cries,  each  shouting  his  loudest. 

And  he  loafed.  Nobody  looked  at 
him,  noticed  him  or  wanted  him.  In  the 
middle  of  the  forenoon,  a  young  lady 
had  stared  at  him  for  a  long  time  and 
said  to  her  mother  : 

"What  a  huge  fellow  ln 

He  had  heard  her  and  it  did  him 
good.  He  looked  round,  but  mother 
and  daughter  were  gone,  behind  a  corner, 
and  stood  gazing  into  a  shop  full  of 
bows  and  ribbons. 

It  began  to  whirl  terribly  in  his  belly  ; 
and  his  stomach  hurt  him  so  ;  and  his 
legs  were  tired. 

The  streets  and  houses  and  all  those 
strange  people  annoyed  him.  He  wanted 
to  get  away,  far  away,  and  to  see  men 
like  himself :  workers  without  work,  who 
were  hungry  ! 

He  looked  for  the  narrow  alleys  and 
the  poor  quarter. 

63 


The   Path  of  Life 

Out  of  a  side-street  a  draycart  came 
jogging  along.  Half  a  score  of  labourers 
lay  tugging  in  the  shoulder-strap  or  leant 
with  all  the  force  of  their  bodies  against 
the  cart,  which  rolled  on  toilsomely. 
'Twas  a  load  of  flax,  packed  tightly  in 
great  square  bales  standing  one  against 
the  other,  the  whole  cart  full.  The 
dray  caught  its  right  wheel  in  the 
grating  of  an  open  gutter  and  remained 
stock-still,  leaning  aslant,  as  though 
planted  there.  The  workmen  racked 
and  wrung  to  get  the  wheel  out,  but 
it  was  no  good.  Then  they  stood  there, 
staring  at  one  another,  at  their  wits'  end 
and  throwing  glances  into  the  eyes  of 
that  big  fellow  who  had  come  to  look 
on.  Without  saying  or  speaking,  he 
caught  a  spoke  in  either  hand,  pressed 
with  his  mighty  shoulder  against  the  inside 
of  the  wheel,  bent  and  wrung  and  in  a 
turn  brought  the  cart  on  the  level.  Then 
he  went  behind  among  the  other  workmen 
64 


Loafing 

to  go  and  help  them  shove.  They  looked 
at  him  queerly,  as  if  to  say  that  they  no 
longer  needed  his  help  and  had  rather 
done  without  him.  The  cart  rolled  on, 
another  street  or  two,  and  then  through 
the  open  gate  of  the  warehouse.  The 
labourers  looked  into  one  another's  eyes 
uneasily,  moved  about,  pulled  the  bales 
off  the  cart  and  dragged  them  a  little 
farther  along  the  wall.  Then  they  tailed 
off,  one  by  one,  through  a  small  inner 
door  ;  and  he  stood  there  alone,  like  a 
fool.  A  bit  later,  he  heard  them  laugh 
and  whisper  under  their  breaths.  When 
he  was  tired  of  waiting,  he  went  up  the 
street  again. 

Nobody,  nobody,  nobody  wanted  him  ! 

He  ground  his  teeth  and  clenched  his 
fists.  In  the  street  through  which  he 
had  to  go,  on  the  spaces  outside  the 
hotels  sat  ladies  and  gentlemen  toying 
with  strange  foods  and  sipping  their  wine 
out    of    long    goblets.       They    chattered 


The   Path  of  Life 

gaily  and  tasted  and  pecked  with  dainty 
lips  and  turned-up  noses.  The  waiters 
ran  here,  there,  like  slaves.  Those  coax- 
ing smells  stung  like  adders  and  roused 
evil  thoughts  in  his  brain.  His  stomach 
fretted  awfully  and  his  empty  head 
turned. 

He  hurried  away. 

In  a  street  with  windowless  house- fronts, 
a  street  without  people  in  it,  he  felt  better. 
He  let  his  body  lean  against  the  iron  post  of 
a  gas-lamp,  stuck  his  hands  in  his  trouser- 
pockets  and  stood  there  looking  at  the 
paving-stones.  Now  he  was  damned  if 
he  would  take  another  step,  he  would 
rather  croak  here  like  a  beast ;  then  they 
would  have  to  take  him  up  and  know 
that  he  existed. 

The  boys  coming  from  school  mocked 
him  ;  they  danced  in  a  ring,  with  him, 
the  big  fellow,  in  the  middle.  They 
hung  paper  flags  on  his  back  and 
sang  : 

66 


Loafing 

Hat,  hat, 
Ugly  old  hat  ! 
It  serves  as  a  slop-pail  and  as  a  hat  ! 

He  did  not  stir. 

Yon  came  a  milk-maid  driving  up  in 
a  cart  drawn  by  dogs.  He  got  a  gnawing 
in  his  arms,  a  spout  of  blood  shot  to 
his  head  and  he  suddenly  felt  as  if  some- 
thing was  going  to  happen.  Just  as 
she  drove  past,  he  put  his  great  hand 
on  the  edge  of  the  little  cart,  with  one 
pull  took  a  copper  can  from  its  straw, 
put  it  to  his  mouth  and  drank  ;  then 
he  sent  the  can  clattering  through  the 
window  of  the  first-best  house,  till  the 
panes  rattled  again.  Looking  round — 
as  if  bewildered  and  set  going,  roused 
by  what  he  had  done — he  caught  sight 
of  the  frightened  little  dairy-maid.  A 
mocking  grin  played  on  his  cruel  face  ; 
he  flung  his  rough  arm  round  her  little 
body  and  lifted  the  girl  out  of  the  cart 
right  up  to  his  face  in  a  fierce  hug. 
67 


The  Path  of  Life 

The  boys  had  fled  shrieking.  He 
felt  two  pairs  of  hands  pulling  at  his 
sleeves  from  below.  He  loosed  the  girl 
and  saw  two  policemen  who  held  him 
fast  and  ordered  him  to  go  with  them. 
They  held  him  by  the  arm  on  either  side 
and  stepped  hurriedly  to  keep  pace  with 
his  great  strides.  They  looked  in  dis- 
may at  that  huge  fellow,  with  his  wicked 
eyes,  and  then  at  each  other,  as  if  to  ask 
what  they  should  do. 

They  came  to  a  narrow  little  street, 
with  nobody  in  it,  and  stopped  at  a 
public-house : 

11  Could  you  do  with  a  dram,  mate  ? " 
they  asked  him. 

He  looked  bewildered,  astounded. 
They  all  three  went  inside  ;  and  each  of 
them  drank  a  big  glass  of  gin. 

The    policemen    whispered    something 

together  ;    the    elder    wiped     the    drink 

from   his   moustache  and  then   said,  very 

severely  : 

68 


Loafing 

"  And  now,  clear  out ;  hurry  up  ! 
And  mind  your  manners,  will  you,  next 
time  ! " 

He  was  outside  once  more,  loafing 
on,  along  the  houses. 


69 


SPRING 


SPRING 

MOTHER  stood  like  a  clucking  hen 
among  her  red-cheeked  youngsters. 
She  was  holding  a  loaf  against  her  fat 
stomach  and,  with  a  curved  pruning- 
knife,  was  cutting  off  good  thick  slices 
which  the  youngsters  snatched  away  one 
by  one  and  stuffed  into  their  pockets. 
Horieneke  fetched  her  basket  of  knit- 
ting and  her  school-books.  She  first 
pulled  Fonske's  stocking  up  once  more, 
buttoned  Sarelke's  breeches  and  wiped 
Lowietje's  nose;  and,  with  an  admonish- 
ing "  Straight  to  school,  do  you  hear, 
boys  ? M  from  mother,  the  whole  band 
rushed  out  of  the  door,  through  the 
73 


The  Path  of  Life 

little  flower-garden  and  up  the  broad 
unmetalled  road,  straight  towards  the 
great  golden  sun  which  was  rising 
yonder,  far  behind  the  pollard  alders, 
in  a  mighty  fire  of  rays.  It  was  cool 
outside  ;  the  sky  was  bright  blue 
streaked  with  glowing  shafts  aslant  the 
hazy-white  clouds  deep,  deep  in  the 
heavens.  Over  the  level  fields,  ever  so 
far,  lay  a  stain  of  pale  green  and 
brown ;  and  the  slender  stalks  of  the 
wheat  stood  like  needles,  quivering  in 
their  glittering  moisture.  The  trees 
were  still  nearly  bare  ;  and  their  trunks 
and  tops  stood  tall  and  black  against 
the  clear  sky  ;  but,  when  you  saw  them 
together,  in  rows  or  little  clusters,  there 
was  a  soft  yellow-green  colour  over 
them,  spotted  with  gleaming  buds 
ready  to  burst.  A  soft  wind,  just  warm 
enough  to  thaw  the  frost,  worked  its 
way  into  and  through  everything  and 
made  it  all  shake  and  swarm  till  it  was 
74 


Spring 

twisted  full  of  restless,  growing  life. 
That  wind  curled  through  the  young- 
sters' tangled  hair  and  coloured  their 
round  cheeks  cherry -red.  They  ran  and 
romped  through  the  dry  sand,  stamping 
till  it  flew  above  their  heads.  They 
were  mad  with  enjoyment. 

Trientje  stood  in  the  doorway,  in 
her  little  shirt,  with  her  stomach 
sticking  out,  watching  her  brothers  as 
they  disappeared ;  and,  when  she  saw 
them  no  longer,  she  thrust  her  fists 
into  her  sockets,  opened  her  mouth 
wide  and  started  a-crying,  until  mother's 
hands  lifted  her  up  by  the  arms  and 
mother's  thick  lips  gave  her  a  hearty 
kiss. 

Horieneke  came  walking  step  by  step 
under  the  lime-trees,  along  the  narrow 
grass-path  beside  the  sand,  keeping  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  play  of  her  knitting- 
needles.  When  she  reached  the  bridge 
that  crossed  the  brook,  she  looked 
75 


The  Path  of  Life 

round  after  her  brothers.  They  had  run 
down  the  slope  and  were  now  trotting 
wildly  one  after  the  other  through  the 
rich  brown  grass,  pulling  up  all  the 
white  and  yellow  flowers,  one  by  one,  till 
their  arms  were  crammed  with  them. 
Horieneke  took  out  her  catechism,  laid 
it  open  on  the  low  rail  and  sat  there 
cheerfully  waiting.  Sarelke  had  crept 
through  the  water-flags  until  he  was 
close  to  the  brook  and,  through  the 
clear,  gleaming  blue  water,  watched  a 
little  fish  frisking  about.  In  a  moment, 
his  wooden  shoes  and  his  stockings 
were  off  and  one  leg  was  in  the  water, 
trying  it :  it  was  cold ;  and  he  felt  a 
shiver  right  down  his  back.  Ripples 
played  on  the  smooth  blue  and  widened 
out  to  the  bank.  The  little  fish  was 
gone,  but  so  was  the  cold  ;  and  he  saw 
more  fish,  farther  away  :  quick  now,  the 
other  leg  in  the  water  !  He  pulled  his 
breeches  up  high  and  there  he  stood, 
76 


Spring 

with  the  water  well  above  his  knees, 
peering  out  for  fish.  The  water  was 
clear  as  glass  ;  and  he  saw  swarms  of 
them  playing,  darting  swiftly  up  and 
down,  to  and  fro  like  arrows  :  they 
shot  past  in  shoals  that  held  together 
like  long  snakes^  in  among  the  moss 
and  the  reeds  and  between  the  stones, 
winding  through  slits  and  crannies. 
He  shouted  aloud  for  joy.  Bertje  and 
Wartje  and  the  others  all  had  their 
stockings  off  and  stood  in  the  water 
bending  down  to  look,  making  funnels 
of  their  hands  in  the  water,  where  it 
rustled  in  little  streams  between  two 
grass-sods  through  which  the  fish  had 
to  pass.  Whenever  they  felt  one 
wriggling  in  their  hands  they  yelled  and 
screamed  and  sprang  out  of  the  brook 
to  put  it  into  their  wooden  shoes, 
which  stood  on  the  bank,  scooped 
full  of  water.  There  they  loitered 
examining  those  beasties  from  close  by  : 
77 


The  Path  of  Life 

those  fish  were  theirs  now  ;  and  they 
would  let  them  swim  about  in  the  big 
tub  at  home  and  give  them  a  bit  of 
their  bread  and  butter  every  day,  so 
that  they  might  grow  into  great  big 
pike.  And  now  back  to  the  runnel 
for  more. 

"Boys,  I'll  tell  mother !"  cried 
Horieneke. 

But  they  did  not  hear  and  just  kept 
on  as  before.  Fonske  had  not  been 
able  to  catch  one  yet  and  his  fat  legs 
were  turning  blue  with  the  cold.  In 
front  of  him  stood  Bertje,  stooping  and 
peering  into  the  water,  with  his  hands 
ready  to  grasp  ;  and  Fonske  saw  such  a 
lovely  little  runnel  from  his  neck  to  half- 
way down  his  back,  all  bare  skin.  He 
carefully  scooped  his  hands  full  of  water 
and  let  it  trickle  gently  inside  Bertje's 
shirt.  The  boy  growled ;  and  Fonske, 
screaming  with  laughter,  skipped  out  of 
the  brook.  Now  came  a  romping  and 
7* 


Spring 

stamping  in  the  water,  a  dashing  and 
splashing  with  their  hands  till  it  turned 
to  a  rain  of  gleaming  drops  that  fell  on 
their  heads  and  wetted  their  clothes 
through  and  through.  And  a  bawling  ! 
And  a  plashing  with  their  bare  legs 
till  the  spray  spouted  high  over  the 
bank. 

"  The  constable  !  "  cried  Horieneke. 

The  sport  was  over.  Like  lightning 
they  all  sprang  out  of  the  brook,  caught 
up  their  wooden  shoes  with  the  little 
fish  in  them  and  ran  as  hard  as  they 
could  through  the  grass  to  the  bridge. 
There  only  did  they  venture  to  look 
round.  Hurriedly  they  turned  down 
their  breeches,  dried  their  shiny  cheeks  and 
dripping  hair  with  one  another's  hand- 
kerchiefs and  then  marched  all  together 
through  the  sun  and  wind  to  school. 

In  the  village  square  they  wandered 
about  among  the  other  boys,  silently 
showed   their    catch,    hid    their   shoes    in 

79 


The  Path  of  Life 

the  hawthorn-hedge  behind  the  church- 
yard and  stayed  playing  until  school- 
master's bell  rang. 

Boys  and  girls,  each  on  their  own 
side,  disappeared  through  the  gate  ;  and 
the  street  was  now  silent  as  the  grave. 
After  a  while,  there  came  through  the 
open  window  of  the  school  first  a  sort 
of  buzzing  and  humming  and  then  a 
repetition  in  chorus,  a  rhythmical  spell- 
ing aloud  :  b-u-t,  but ;  t-e-r,  ter  :  butter  ; 
B-a,  Ba  ;  b-e-1,  bel  :  Babel  ;  ever  on  and 
more  and  more  noisily.  In  between  it 
all,  the  sparrows  chattered  and  chirped 
and  fluttered  safely  in  the  powdery  sand 
of  the  playground. 

The  sun  was  now  high  in  the  sky  and 
the  light  glittered  on  the  young  leaves, 
full  of  the  glad  life  of  youth  and  gleam- 
ing with  gold. 

Horieneke,  with  a  few  more  children, 
was  in  another  school.  They  sat,  the 
boys  on  one  side  and  the  girls  on  the 
80 


Spring 

other,  on  long  benches  and  were  wrapped 
up  in  studying  their  communion-book 
and  listening  to  an  old  nun,  who  ex- 
plained it  to  them  in  drawling,  snuffling 
tones.  After  that,  they  had  to  say  their 
lesson,  one  by  one  ;  and  this  all  went 
so  quietly,  so  modestly,  so  easily,  'twas 
as  if  they  had  the  open  book  before 
them.  Half-way  through  the  morning, 
they  went  two  and  two  through  the  village 
to  the  church,  where  the  priest  was 
waiting  to  hear  their  catechism.  This 
also  went  quietly  ;  and  the  questions 
and  answers  sounded  hollow  in  that 
empty  church. 

Horieneke  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
girls  ;  she  had  caught  up  almost  half  of 
them  because  she  always  knew  her  lessons 
so  well  and  listened  so  attentively.  She 
was  allowed  to  lead  the  prayers  and  was 
the  first  examined  ;  then  she  sat  looking 
at  the  priest  and  listening  to  what  came 
from  his  lips.  He  always  gave  her  a 
81  F 


The  Path  of  Life 

kind  smile  and  held  her  up  to  the  others 
as  an  example  of  good  conduct.  After  the 
catechism,  they  had  leave  to  go  and  play 
in  the  convent-garden.  In  the  afternoon, 
there  were  new  lessons  to  be  learnt  and 
new  explanations  ;  and  then  quietly  home. 

So  they  lived  quite  secluded,  alone, 
in  their  own  little  world  of  modesty  and 
piety,  preparing  for  the  great  day. 
The  other  youngsters,  who  went  their 
several  ways,  felt  a  certain  awe  for  these 
school-fellows  who  once  used  to  romp 
and  fight  with  them  and  who  were  now 
so  good,  so  earnest,  so  neat  in  their 
clothes  and  so  polite.  The  "  first-com- 
municants : "  the  word  had  something 
sacred  about  it  which  they  respected ; 
and  the  little  ones  counted  on  their 
fingers  how  many  years  they  would 
have  to  wait  before  they  too  were 
learning  their  catechism  and  having 
leave  to  play  in  the  convent-garden. 

To  her  brothers  Horieneke  had  now 
82 


Spring 

become  a  sacred  thing,  like  a  guardian 
angel  who  watched  over  them  every- 
where ;  and  they  dared  do  no  mischief 
when  she  was  by.  She  no  longer 
played  with  them  after  school ;  she  was 
now  their  "  big  sister/'  to  whom  they 
softly  whispered  the  favours  which 
they  wished  to  get  out  of  mother. 

When  Trientje  saw  her  sister  coming 
home  in  the  distance,  she  put  out  her 
little  arms  and  then  would  not  let  her 
go.  For  mother,  Horieneke  had  to  wash 
the  dishes,  darn  the  stockings  and,  when 
the  baby  cried,  sit  for  hours  rocking  it 
in  the  cradle  or  dandling  it  on  her  lap, 
like  a  little  young  mother. 

Holding  Trientje  by  the  hand  and 
carrying  the  other  on  her  arm,  she 
would  walk  along  the  paths  of  the 
garden  and  then  put  them  both  down 
on  the  bench  in  the  box  arbour,  while 
she  tended  the  plants  and  shrubs  that 
were  beginning  to  shoot. 


The  Path  of  Life 

In  the  evening,  when  the  bell  rang 
for  benediction,  she  called  all  her  little 
brothers  and  they  went  off  to  church 
together.  From  every  side  came  wives 
in  hooded  cloaks  and  lads  in  wooden 
shoes  that  stamped  on  the  great  floor 
till  it  echoed  in  the  silent  nave. 

The    choir  was  a  semicircular,   homely 
little   chapel,    with    narrow    pointed    win- 
dows, black  at  this  hour,  like  deep  holes, 
with    leads    outlining  saints   in    shapeless 
dark    patches     of     colour.       The     altar 
was    a   mass    of  burning    candles ;  and  a 
flickering  gleam  fell  on  the  brass  candle- 
sticks,   the    little    gold    leaves    and    the 
artificial  flowers   and   on  the    corners    of 
the      silver     monstrance,     which     stood 
glittering     high     up     in    a     little    white 
satin    house.     All    of    this    was   clouded 
in    a   blue  smoke    which    rose    from   the 
holes    of  the  censer  continuously    swung 
to    and    fro   by    the    arm    of    a    roguish 
serving-boy.     Far    at    the    back,    in    the 
$4 


Spring 

dark,  in  the  black  stripes  of  shadow 
cast  by  the  pillars  or  under  the  cold 
bright  patch  of  a  lamp  or  a  stand  of 
votive  candles  was  an  old  wife,  huddled 
under  her  hood,  with  bent  back, 
praying,  and  here  and  there  a  troop 
of  boys  who  by  turns  dropped  their 
wooden  shoes  or  fought  with  one 
another's  rosaries. 

Near  the  communion-bench  knelt 
Horieneke,  her  eyes  wide  open,  full  of 
brightness  and  gladness  and  ecstacy, 
face  to  face  with  Our  Lord.  The  in- 
cense smelt  so  good  and  the  whole 
little  church  was  filled  with  the 
trailing  chords  of  the  organ  and 
with  soft,  plaintive  Latin  chant.  Her 
lips  muttered  automatically  and  the 
beads  glided  through  her  fingers  : 
numbered  Hail  Marys  like  so  many 
roses  that  were  to  adorn  her  heart 
against  the  coming  of  the  great  God. 
Her  thoughts  wafted  her  up  to 
85 


The  Path  of  Life 

Heaven  in  that  wide  temple  full  of 
glittering  lights  where,  against  the  high 
walls  full  of  pedestals  and  niches,  the 
saints,  all  stiff  with  gold  and  jewels, 
stood  smiling  under  their  haloes  and 
the  nimble  angels  flew  all  around  on 
their  white-plaster  wings.  She  had 
something  to  ask  of  every  one  of  them 
and  they  received  her  prayer  in  turns. 
When  the  priest  stood  up  in  his  gleam- 
ing silver  cope,  climbed  the  three  steps 
and  took  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  his 
white  hands  to  give  the  benediction  ; 
when  the  bell  tinkled  and  the  censer 
flew  on  high  and  the  organ  opened 
all  its  throats  and  the  glittering 
monstrance  slowly  made  a  cross  in  the 
air  and  above  the  heads  of  the 
worshippers,  she  fell  forward  over  her 
praying-stool  and  lay  like  that, 
swooning  in  mute  adoration,  until  all 
was  silent  again,  the  candles  out  and 
she  sitting  alone  there  in  the  dark 
86 


Spring 

with  a  few  black  shapes  of  cloaked 
women  who  wandered  discreetly  from 
one  station  of  the  Cross  to  the  next. 
Outside  she  heard  her  brothers  play- 
ing in  the  church-square.  There  she 
joined  the  little  girls  of  her  school  ; 
and,  arm  in  arm,  they  walked  along 
past  the  dark  houses  and  the  silent 
trees,  each  whispering  her  own  tale  : 
about  her  new  dress,  her  veil,  her 
white  shoes,  her  long  taper  with 
golden  bows ;  about  flowers  and  beads 
and  prayers.   .  .  . 

After  supper,  Horieneke  had  to 
rock  the  baby  to  sleep,  while  mother 
moved  about,  and  then  to  say  the 
evening  prayers  out  loud,  after  which 
they  all  of  them  went  to  bed.  On 
reaching  her  little  bedroom,  she  visited 
all  the  prints  and  images  hanging  on 
the  walls.  She  then  undressed  and 
listened  whether  any  one  was  still  awake 
or  up.  Next  she  carefully  crept  down 
*7 


The  Path  of  Life 

the  three  stairs  I  in  her  little  shift  and 
clambered  up  the  ladder  to  the  loft, 
where  all  her  little  brothers  lay  playing 
in  a  great  box-bed.  They  knew  that 
she  would  come  and  had  kept  a  place 
for  her  in  the  middle.  She  sank  deep 
in  the  straw  and,  when  they  all  lay 
still,  she  went  on  with  the  tale  which 
she  had  broken  off  yesterday  half-way. 
It  was  all  made  up  of  long,  long  stories 
out  of  The  Golden  Legend  and  wonder- 
ful adventures  of  far  beyond  the  sea 
in  unknown  lands.  She  told  it  all  so 
prettily,  so  leisurely  ;  and  the  children 
listened  like  eager  little  birds.  High 
up  in  the  dusk  of  the  rafters  they  saw 
all   those    things   happening    before    their 

1  The  bedroom  behind  the  kitchen  or  living- 
room,  in  the  Flemish  cottages,  is  over  the  cellar  ; 
but  this  cellar  is  not  entirely  underground  and 
is  lighted  by  a  very  low  window  at  the  back. 
Consequently,  the  floor  of  the  bedroom  is  a  little 
higher  than  that  of  the  living-room  and  is 
approached  by  a  flight  of  two  or  three  steps. 
88 


Spring 

eyes  in  the  black  depths  and  saw  the 
mad  fairy-dance  there,  until  they 
dreamed  off  for  good  and  all  and 
Horieneke  was  left  the  only  one  awake, 
still  telling  her  story.  Then  she  crept 
carefully  back  to  her  room  and  into 
bed,  where  she  lay  counting  :  how 
many  more  days,  how  many  times 
sleeping  and  getting  up  and  how  many 
more  lessons  to  learn  .  .  .  and  then  the 
great  day  !  The  great  day  !  Slowly 
she  made  all  the  days,  with  their  special 
happenings,  appear  before  her  eyes ; 
and  she  enjoyed  beforehand  all  those 
beautiful  things  which  had  kept  her  so 
long  a-longing.  When,  in  her  thoughts, 
it  came  to  Saturday  evening  and  at 
last,  slowly — like  a  box  with  something 
wonderful  inside  which  you  daren't  open 
— to  that  Sunday  morning,  then  her 
heart  began  to  flutter,  a  thrill  ran 
through  her  body  and,  so  that  she 
shouldn't  weep  for  gladness,  she  bit  her 
H 


The  Path  of  Life 

lips,  squeezed  her  hands  between  her 
knees  and  rubbed  them  until  the 
ecstasy  was  passed  and  she  again  lay 
smiling  in  supreme  content  and  shiver- 
ing with  delight. 

Time  dragged  on  ;  cold  weather  came 
and  rain  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  never 
would  be  summer.  And  that  constant 
repetition  of  getting  up  and  going  to 
bed  and  learning  her  lessons  and 
counting  the  hours  and  the  minutes 
became  so  dreary  and  seemed  to  go 
round  and  round  in  an  endless  circle. 

To-day  at  last  was  the  long-awaited 
holiday  when  Horieneke  might  go  into 
town  with  mother  to  buy  clothes.  Her 
heart  throbbed  ;  and  she  walked  beside 
mother,  with  eyes  wide-open,  looking 
round  at  every  window,  up  one  street 
and  down  another,  crying  aloud  each 
time  for  joy  when  she  saw  pretty  things 
displayed.  They  bought  white  slippers 
with  little  bows,  a  splendid  wreath  of 
90 


Spring 

white  lilies  of  the  valley,  a  great  veil 
of  woven  lace,  a  white-ivory  prayer- 
book,  a  mother-of-pearl  rosary  with  a 
little  glass  peep-hole  in  the  silver  cruci- 
fix, showing  all  manner  of  pretty 
things.  Horieneke  sighed  with  happi- 
ness. Mother  haggled  and  bargained, 
said  within  herself  that  it  was  "  foolish- 
ness to  waste  all  that  money,"  but 
bought  and  went  on  buying  ;  and,  every 
time  something  new  went  into  the  big 
basket,  it  was  : 

"  Don't  tell  father  what  it  cost, 
Rieneke  !  " 

All  those  pretty  things  were  locked 
away  in  the  bedroom  at  home  and 
hung  up  in  the  oak  press,  while  father 
was  still  at  work. 

On  another  evening,  when  mother 
and  Horieneke  were  alone  at  home,  the 
seamstress  brought  the  new  clothes :  a 
whole  load  of  white  muslin  in  stiff 
white  folds  full  of  satin  bows  and 
91 


The  Path  of  Life 

ribbons  and  white  lace.  They  had  to 
be  tried  on  ;  and  Horieneke  stood  there, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  all  in 
white,  like  an  angel.  But  the  happiness 
lasted  only  for  a  spell  :  there  came  a 
noise  and  every  one  in  the  room  fled 
and  the  clothes  were  hastily  taken  off 
and  put  away. 

Every  day,  when  the  boys  were  at 
school  and  father  in  the  fields,  neigh- 
bours came  to  look  at  the  clothes. 
Piece  after  piece  was  carefully  taken 
out  of  the  press  and  spread  out  for 
show  on  the  great  bed.  The  wives  felt 
and  tested  the  material,  examined  the 
tucks  and  seams  and  the  knots  and  the 
lining,  the  bows  and  ribbons  and  clapped 
their  hands  together  in  admiration.  It 
became  known  all  over  the  village  that 
Horieneke  would  be  the  finest  of  all 
in  the  church. 

The  counted  days  crept  slowly  by, 
the  sun  climbed  higher  every  day  and 
92 


Spring 

the    mornings    and   evenings    lengthened. 
Things  out   of  doors  changed  and  grew 
as  you  looked  :    the   young    green   stood 
twinkling  on  every  hand  ;  the  fields  lay 
like   coloured    carpets,    sharply   outlined  ; 
and    the    trees  grew    long,  pale   branches 
with  leaves  which  stood  out  like  stately 
plumes  against  the  sky,  so  full  of  youth 
and    freshness    and    free    from    dust    as 
yet     and     tender      In    course    of    time, 
white  buds  came  peeping,  gleaming  amid 
the  delicate  young  leaves,  till  all  looked 
like   a   spotted    altar-cloth  :    a   promising 
splendour  of  white  blossoms.     Here  and 
there    in    the    garden    an     early     flower 
came     creeping    out.       Yonder,    in     the 
dark-blue    wood,    patches   of   brown    and 
of  pale    colour   stood   out    clearly,    with 
a  whole  variety  of  vivid  hues.     And    it 
had  all    come   so    unexpectedly,  all   of  a 
sudden,    as    though,    by    some    magic    of 
the  night,  it    was  all  set  forth  to  adorn 
and  grace  a  great  festival. 
93 


The  Path  of  Life 

In  the  fields,  the  folk  were  hard 
at  work.  The  land  was  turned  up  and 
torn  and  broken  by  the  gleaming  plough 
and  lay  steaming  in  purple  clods  in 
the  sun's  life-giving  rays.  Everything 
swarmed  with  life  and  movement.  The 
houses  were  done  up  and  coated  with 
fresh  whitewash,  the  shutters  painted 
green,  till  it  all  shouted  from  afar  in  a 
glad  mosaic,  with  the  blue  of  the  sky 
and  the  young  leafage  of  the  trees,  under 
the  brown,  moss-grown  roofs. 

And  the  days  crept  on,  each  counted 
and  marked  off  :  so  many  white  stripes 
on  the  rafters  and  black  stripes  on  the 
almanack  ;  they  fell  away  one  by  one 
and  the  Saturday  came,  the  long-expected 
eve  of  the  great  Sunday.  Quite  early, 
before  sunrise,  the  linen  hung  outside, 
the  white  smocks  and  shirts  waving,  like 
fluttering  pennons,  from  the  clothes-lines 
in  the  white  orchard.  Horieneke  also  was 
up  betimes  and  helping  mother  in  her 
94 


Spring 

work.  From  top  to  bottom  everything 
had  to  be  altered  and  done  over  again 
and  cleansed.  It  was  only  with  difficulty 
that  she  got  to  school.  The  last  time  ! 
To-day,  the  great  examination  of  con- 
science, the  general  confession  and  the 
communion-practice  ;  and,  to-night,  every- 
thing to  be  laid  out  ready  for  to-morrow 
morning  :  all  this  kept  running  anyhow 
through  her  head  and  among  the  lines 
of  her  lesson-book. 

Half-way  through  the  morning  they 
went  to  church.  The  children  there  all 
looked  so  glad,  so  happy  and  so  clean 
and  neat  in  their  second-best  clothes  and 
so  nicely  washed.  They  now  made  their 
confessions  for  the  last  time  ;  and  it  all 
went  so  pleasantly :  they  had  done  no 
wrong  for  such  a  long  while  and  all 
their  sins  had  already  been  forgiven  two 
or  three  times  over,  yesterday  and  the 
day  before.  They  sat  in  two  long  rows 
waiting  their  turns  and  thinking  over, 
95 


The  Path  of  Life 

right  away  back  to  their  far-off  baby- 
hood, whether  nothing  had  been  forgotten 
or  omitted  :  their  little  hearts  must  be 
quite  stainless  now  and  pure.  When 
they  were  tired  of  examining  their 
consciences,  they  fell  to  praying,  with 
their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  saint  who 
stood  before  them  on  his  pedestal,  or 
else  watched  the  other  youngsters  going 
in  and  out  by  turns. 

The  little  church  looked  its  best,  neat 
as  a  new  pin  :  the  floor  was  freshly 
scrubbed  and  the  chairs  placed  side  by 
side  in  straight  rows  ;  the  brasswork 
shone  like  gold  ;  and  a  new  communion- 
cloth  hung,  like  a  snow-white  barrier, 
in  front  of  the  sanctuary.  The  velvet 
banners  were  stripped  of  their  linen 
covers  ;  and  the  blue  vases,  with  bright 
flowers  and  silver  bunches  of  grapes, 
were  put  out  on  the  altar,  as  on  feast- 
days.  And  all  of  this  was  for  to- 
morrow !  And  for  them  ! 
96 


Spring 

All  the  time  it  was  deathly  still, 
with  not  a  sound  but  that  of  the 
youngsters  going  in  and  out  of  the 
creaking  confessional.  Now  and  then 
the  church-door  flapped  open  and  banged 
to,  when  one  of  the  children  had  finished 
and  went  away.  Their  little  souls  were 
white  as  new-fallen  snow  and  bedight 
with  indulgences  and  prayers.  On  their 
faces  lay  the  fresh  innocence  of  babes 
brought  to  baptism  or  of  laughing  angels' 
heads  and  in  their  wide  eyes  everything 
was  reflected  festively  and  at  its  best  ; 
they  felt  so  light  and  lived  on  little  but 
longing  and  a  holy  fear  of  their  own 
worthiness  :  that  great,  incredible  thing 
of  the  morrow  was  suddenly  going  to 
change  them  from  children  into  grown- 
up people  ! 

They  just  gave  themselves  time  to  have 

their  dinners  in  a  hurry  ;  and  then   back 

to    school,    where    they    were    to    learn 

how    to    receive    communion.       A    few 

97  g 


The  Path  of  Life 

benches  placed  next  to  one  another 
represented  the  communion-rails ;  and 
there  they  practised  the  whole  after- 
noon :  with  studied  piety,  their  hands 
folded  and  their  heads  bowed,  they  learnt 
how  to  genuflect,  how  to  rise,  how  to 
approach  in  ranks  and  return  at  a  sign 
from  the  old  nun,  who  tapped  with  a 
key  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  each  time 
that  a  new  row  of  youngsters  had  to 
start,  kneel  or  go  back.  In  a  short  time 
this  went  as  exactly,  as  evenly  as  could  be, 
just  like  soldiers  drilling.  Finally,  they 
had  to  recite  once  more  their  acts  of  faith, 
adoration  and  thanksgiving  ;  and  Horie- 
neke  and  the  first  of  the  little  boys  had  to 
write  out  on  large  sheets  of  paper  the  pre- 
paration and  thanks  which  they  had  learnt 
by  heart,  to  be  read  to-morrow  in  church. 
After  that,  they  were  drawn  up  in  line 
and  silently  and  mysteriously  led  into  the 
convent. 

The    children   held    their    breath    and 
98 


Spring 

walked  carefully  down  long  passages, 
between  high,  white  walls,  past  closed 
doors  with  inscriptions  in  Gothic  letters 
and  a  smell  of  clean  linen  and  apples  : 
ever  on  and  on,  through  more  passages, 
till  they  reached  a  large  hall  full  of  chairs 
where  Mother  Prioress — a  fat  and  stately 
nun,  with  her  great  big  head  covered 
by  her  cap  and  her  hands  in  her  sleeves 
— sat  upon  a  throne.  They  had  to  file 
past  her,  one  by  one,  with  a  low  bow, 
and  then  sit  down. 

Mother  Prioress  settled  herself  in  her 
seat,  coughed  and,  in  a  rich,  throaty 
voice,  began  by  telling  the  youngsters 
how  they  were  to  address  Our  Lord  ; 
told  stories  of  children  who  had  become 
saints  ;  and  she  ended  by  slowly  and 
cautiously  producing  a  little  glass  case 
in  which  a  thorn  out  of  Our  Lord's 
crown  lay  exposed  on  a  red-velvet 
cushion.  And  then  they  were  sent 
home. 

99 


The  Path  of  Life 

On  the  way,  Horieneke  came  upon 
her  brothers  playing  in  the  sand.  They 
had  scooped  it  up  in  their  wooden  shoes 
and  poured  it  into  a  heap  in  the  middle 
of  the  road  and  then  wetted  it  ;  and 
now  they  were  boring  all  sorts  of  holes 
in  it  and  tunnels  and  passages  and 
making  it  into  a  rats'-castle.  She  let 
them  be,  gathered  up  her  little  skirts, 
so  as  not  to  dirty  them,  and  passed  by 
on  one  side. 

Mother  was  up  to  her  elbows  in  the 
golden  dough  of  the  cakebread,  stirring 
and  beating  and^  patting  the  jumble  of 
eggs  and  flour  and  milk.  Horieneke 
took  the  crying  baby  out  of  the  cradle, 
shaking  and  tossing  it  in  the  air,  and 
went  into  the  garden  just  outside  the 
door.  The  golden  afternoon  sun  lay  all 
around  and  everything  was  radiant  with 
translucid  green.  The  little  path  lay 
neatly  raked  and  the  yellow  daffodils 
stood,  like  brass  trumpets,  closely  ranked 

IOO 


Spring 

on  their  stalks  ;  under  the  shrubs  bright 
violets  peeped  out  with  raised  eyebrows, 
like  the  grinning  faces  of  little  old 
wives.  The  whole  garden  was  filled 
with  a  scent  of  fresh  jasmine  and  a 
cool  fragrance  of  cherry-blossom  and 
peach. 

It  was  all  so  still  and  peaceful  that 
Horieneke,  who  had  begun  to  sing, 
stopped  in  the  middle  and  stood  listen- 
ing to  the  chaffinches  and  siskins  chat- 
tering pell-mell. 

From  there  she  went  to  her  little 
bedroom,  laid  the  child  on  her  bed  and 
drew  the  curtains  before  the  window 
which  let  in  the  sun  in  a  thousand 
slender  beams  of  dusty  light.  The  pic- 
tures and  images  gleamed  on  the  wall 
and  the  saints  seemed  to  smile  with 
happiness  in  that  cool  air,  fragrant  of 
gillyflowers  and  white  jasmine.  She  took 
out  her  new  prayer-book,  flicked  the 
silver    clasp    open    and    shut   and    played 

IOI 


The  Path  of  Life 

with  the  little  shaft  of  light  which  the 
gilt  edge  sent  running  all  round  the 
white  walls.  Then  she  stood  musing 
for  a  long  time,  gazing  out  through  the 
little  curtains  at  those  white  trees  in 
blossom,  around  and  above  which  the 
golden  pollen  danced,  and  at  all  that 
huge  green  field  and  the  everlasting  sun 
and  all  the  blue  on  the  horizon.  And, 
feeling  tired,  she  laid  her  head  on  the 
bed  beside  the  baby  and  lingered  there, 
dreaming  of  all  the  delight  and  beauty 
of  the  morrow. 

Mother  called  her  and  Horieneke  came 
down.  Mam'selle  Julie  was  there,  who 
had  promised  to  come  and  curl  the 
child's  hair.  Mam'selle  put  on  a  great 
apron  and  began  to  undress  Horieneke  ; 
then  a  great  tub  of  rain-water  was 
carried  in  and  the  girl  was  scrubbed  and 
washed  with  scented  soap  till  the  whole 
tub  was  full  of  suds.  Her  head  was 
washed  as  well  and  her  hair  plaited  into 
1 02 


Spring 

little  braids,  which  were  rolled  up  one 
by  one  and  wound  in  curl-papers  and 
fastened  to  her  head,  under  a  net.  Her 
cheeks  and  neck  shone  like  transparent 
china  with  the  rosy  blood  coursing  under- 
neath. When  she  was  done,  Mam'selle 
Julie  went  off  to  the  other  communicants. 
The  boys  were  lying  on  their  backs, 
under  the  walnut-tree,  talking,  when 
Horieneke  came  past.  They  looked  at 
the  funny  twists  on  her  head  and  went 
on  talking  :  Wartje  longed  most  of  all 
to  put  on  his  new  breeches  ;  Fonske 
was  glad  that  Uncle  Petrus  was  coming 
to-morrow  and  Aunt  Stanske  and  Cousin 
Isidoor  ;  Bertje  because  of  the  dog-cart1 
and  the  dogs  and  the  chance  of  a  ride ; 
Wartje  because  of  all  that  aunt  would 
bring  with  her  in  her  great  wicker 
basket  ;  and  Dolfke  longed  for  father  to 
come  home  from  work,  so  that  he 
might  help  to  clean  the  rabbits. 

1  The  Flemish  low-wheeled  cart  drawn  by  dogs. 
103 


The  Path  of  Life 

The  sun  played  with  the  gold  in  the 
leaves  of  the  walnut-tree  ;  and  the 
radiant  tree-top  was  all  aswarm  and  astir 
and  little  golden  shafts  were  shooting  in 
all  directions.  The  first  butterfly  of  the 
year  rocked  like  a  white  flower  through 
the  air.     . 

"  I  smell  something  \n  said  Dolfke. 

They  all  sniffed  and  : 

"  Mates !  They're  taking  the  cake- 
bread  out  of  the  oven  !  " 

They  rushed  indoors  one  on  top  of 
the  other.  On  the  table  lay  four  golden- 
yellow  brown-crusted  loaves,  as  big  as 
cart-wheels,  steaming  till  the  whole 
house  smelt  of  them. 

"  First  let  it  cool  !  Then  you  can 
eat  it,"  said  mother  and  gave  each  of 
them  a  flat  scone. 

"  Yes,  mother." 

And    they    trotted    round    the    kitchen 
holding  their  treasures  high    above   their 
heads  and  screaming  with  delight. 
104 


Spring 

Behind  the  elder-hedge  they  heard 
father's  voice  humming  : 

When  the  sorrel  shows, 

'Tis  then  the  month  of  May,  O  !  .  .   . 

They  ran  to  him,  took  the  tools  out 
of  his  hands  and  : 

"  Father,  the  rabbits  !  The  rabbits 
now,  father  ?  " 

a  Will  it  be  fine  weather  to-morrow  ?  " 
asked  Horieneke. 

<c  For  sure,  child  :  j  ust  see  how  clear 
the  sun  is  setting." 

He  pointed  to  the  west ;  and  the  boys 
stood  on  tip-toe  to  see  the  sinking,  dull- 
glowing  disk  hang  glittering  in  |its  gulf 
of  orange  cloud-reefs,  pierced  through 
and  through  with  bright  rays  that  melted 
away  high  in  the  pale  blue  and  grey, 
while  that  disk  hung  there  so  calmly,  as 
though  frozen  into  the  sky  for  ever. 

Father  had  one  or  two   things   to    do 
105 


The  Path  of  Life 

and  then  the  boys  might  come  along  to 
the  rabbits. 

"  The  two  white  ones,  eh,  father  ?  " 
Father   nodded  yes ;    and   Sarelke   and 
Dolfke  skipped  along  the  boards    to   the 
hutch    and    came    back   each   carrying    a 
long  white  rabbit  by  the  ears. 

Dolfke  held  his  close  to  the  ground, 
hidden  behind  a  tree,  so  that  it  shouldn't 
see  the  other's  blood  and  foresee  its  own 
death.  While  father  was  sharpening  his 
knife,  Fonske  took  a  cord  and  tied  the 
hind-legs  of  Sarelke's  rabbit  and  hung  it, 
head  down,  on  a  nail  under  the  eaves. 
Father  struck  it  behind  the  ears  so  that 
it  was  dazed  and,  rolling  its  eyes,  re- 
mained hanging  stock-still.  Before  it 
had  time  to  scream,  the  knife  was  in  its 
neck  and  the  throat  was  cut  open.  A 
little  stream  of  dark  blood  trickled  to 
the  ground  and  clotted  ;  and  some  of  it 
hung  like  an  icicle  from  the  beard,  which 
dripped  incessantly  with  red  drops. 
106 


Spring 

Fonske  carefully  put  his  finger  to  the  rab- 
bit's nose  and  licked  off  a  drop  of  blood. 

ct  It's  going  home,"  said  Sarelke. 

u  Is  it  dead,  father  ?  "    sighed  Wartje. 

"  Stone-dead,  my  boy." 

He  ripped  one  buttock  with  his  knife 
and  pulled  off  the  skin  ;  then  the  other, 
so  that  the  blue  flesh  was  laid  bare  and 
the  little  purple  veins.  One  more  tug  and 
the  creature  hung  disfigured  beyond  all 
knowledge,  in  its  bare  buttocks  and  its 
fat,  bulging  paunch,  with  its  head  all  over 
blood  and  its  eyes  sticking  out.  The 
belly  and  breast  were  cut  open  from  end 
to  end  and  the  guts  removed ;  the  gall- 
bladder was  flung  into  the  cess-pool  ;  two 
bits  of  stick,  to  keep  the  hind-legs  and 
the  skin  of  the  stomach  apart,  and  the 
thing  was  done.  The  other  was  treated 
likewise  ;  and  the  two  rabbits  hung 
skinned  and  cleaned,  stiffening  high  up  on 
the  gable-end. 

Meanwhile  mother  had  got  supper  ready : 
107 


The  Path  of  Life 

a  heap  of  steaming  potatoes  soaking  in 
melted  butter  and,  after  that,  bread-and- 
butter  and  a  pan  of  porridge.  Horieneke, 
by  way  of  a  treat,  got  a  couple  of  eggs 
and  a  slice  of  the  new  cakebread  ;  and 
she  sat  enjoying  this  at  the  small  table. 
After  supper,  the  boys  had  to  be  washed 
and  cleaned.  They  started  undressing 
here  and  undressing  there  ;  serge  breeches 
and  jackets  flew  over  the  floor  ;  and  one 
after  the  other  they  were  taken  in  hand 
by  mother,  beside  a  kettle  of  water, 
where  they  were  rubbed  and  rinsed  with 
foaming  soap-suds.  Then  each  was  given 
a  clean  shirt  ;  and  away  to  bed  with  them ! 
They  jumped  and,  with  their  shirt-tails 
waving  behind  them,  skipped  about  and 
smacked  one  another  until  father  came 
along  and  stopped  their  game.  Mother 
had  still  her  floor  to  scrub  ;  and  Horie- 
neke read  out  evening  prayers  while  the 
boys  knelt  beside  their  bed. 

Now    all    grew   still.     Father    smoked 


Spring 

a  pipe  and  took  a  stroll  in  the  moonlight 
through  the  orchard,  where  he  had 
always  something  to  look  after  or  to  do. 
Indoors  the  broom  went  steadily  over 
the  floor  ;  whole  kettlefuls  of  water  were 
poured  out  and  swept  away  and  rubbed 
dry.  Then  the  stove  was  lit ;  and,  while 
mother  blacked  the  shoes,  father  made  the 
coffee.  They  mumbled  a  bit  together — 
about  to-morrow's  doings,  about  the  child- 
ren, the  work,  the  hard  times  and  their 
troublesome  landlord,  the  farmer  of  the 
woodside — when  there  came  a  noise  from 
the  little  bedroom  and  the  door  creaked 
softly.  Horieneke  suddenly  appeared  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor  in  her  little  night- 
gown ;  and,  before  father  and  mother  had 
got  over  their  surprise,  the  child  was  on 
her  knees,  asking  : 

"  Forgive  me,  father  and  mother,  for 
all  the  wrong  that  I  have  done  you  in 
my  life  ;    and  I  promise  you  now  to  be 

always  good  and  obedient.  .  .   ." 
109 


The  Path  of  Life 

Mother  was  furious  at  first ;  and  then, 
at  the  sight  of  the  kneeling  figure  and  the 
sound  of  the  tearful  little  voice,  her  anger 
fell  and  she  felt  like  crying.  Father  hated 
all  that  sentimental  rubbish  : 

"  Come,  you  baggage,  quick  to  bed  ! 
.  .  .  Forgive  you  ?  What  for  ? .  .  . 
Nonsense,  nonsense  !  " 

The  child  kept  on  weeping  : 

"Father,  please,  it's  my  first  com- 
munion to-morrow  and  we  must  first 
receive  forgiveness:  Sister  at  school  said 
so.  .   .  . 

"  The  sisters  at  school  are  mad  !  And 
they'll  make  you  mad  too  !  To  bed  with 
you  now,  d'you  hear  ? " 

Mother  could  stand  it  no  longer  ;  she 
sobbed  aloud,  took  Horieneke  under  the 
arms  and  lifted  her  to  her  breast.  She 
felt  a  lump  in  her  throat  and  could 
hardly  get  out  her  words  : 

"  It's  all  forgiven,  my  darling.  God 
bless  you  and  keep  you  !  And  now  go 
no 


Spring 
quick  to  bed  ;  you  have  to   be   up  early 


to-morrow/' 


Horieneke  put  her  arm  over  mother's 
shoulders  and  whispered  softly  in  her 
ear  : 

"  I  have  something  else  to  ask  you, 
mother.  All  the  children's  parents  are 
going  to  communion  to-morrow :  shall 
you  too,  mother  ?  " 

"  Make  your  heart  easy,  dear  ;  it'll 
be  all  right." 

Ci  Mother,  will  you  call  me  in  good 
time  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  go  to  bed." 

The  house  grew  quiet  as  the  grave  ; 
and  soon  a  manifold  snoring  and  grunting 
sounded  all  through  the  bedroom  and  the 
loft.  Outside  it  was  twilight  and  the 
blossoms  shone  pale  white  in  the  orchard. 
The  crickets  chirped  far  and  near.   .  .  . 

This  was  the  last  evening  and  morning  : 
when  it  was  once  more  so  late  and  dark, 
everything  would  be  over  and  done  !  All 
in 


The  Path  of  Life 

those  days,  all  that  long  array  of  light 
and  darkness,  of  learning  and  repeating 
lessons — a  good  time  nevertheless — was 
past  and  gone  ;  and,  now  that  the  great 
thing,  always  so  remote,  so  inaccessible, 
was  close  at  hand,  she  was  almost  sorry 
that  the  longing  and  the  aching  were  to 
cease  and  she  almost  felt  afraid.  Should 
she  dare  to  sleep  to-night  ?  No.  'Twas 
so  good  to  lie  awake  thinking  ;  and  she 
had  still  so  much  praying  to  do  :  her 
heart  was  still  far  from  ready  and  pre- 
pared. 

"  O  God,  I  am  a  poor  little  child  and 
Thou  art  willing  to  come  to  me.  .  .  . 
Dear  Virgin  Mary,  make  my  soul  as  pure 
as  snow,  so  that  it  may  become  a  worthy 
dwelling-place  for  thy  Divine  Son." 

The  white  dress  now  lay  spread  out 
upon  the  best  bed  in  the  big  bedroom 
and  her  wreath  too,  with  all  the  rest.  She 
already  saw  herself  clad  in  all  that  white 
wealth  like  a  little  queen,  standing  laugh- 
112 


Spring 

ing  through  her  golden  curls !  She  felt 
the  little  knots  of  paper  on  her  head  ; 
to-morrow  they  would  be  released  and 
would  open  into  a  cloud  of  ringlets  ;  and 
the  people,  who  would  all  look  at  her  ; 
and  aunt.  .  .  .  Now  just  to  recite  her 
words  once  more  for  to-morrow  in  church. 
.  .  .  And  that  pretty  picture  which  the 
priest  would  give  her.  .  .  .  Was  she  sure 
that  nothing  was  forgotten  ?  Just  let  her 
think  again  :  and  her  candle-cloth  ?  Yes, 
that  was  there  too.  .  .  .  What  could  the 
time  be  ?  The  clock  was  ticking  like  a 
heavy  chap's  footstep  downstairs  in  the 
kitchen.  It  was  deathly  quiet  everywhere. 
Now  she  would  lie  and  wait  until  the 
clock  struck,  so  that  she  might  know 
how  long  it  would  be  before  it  grew  light. 
Her  eyes  were  so  tired  and  all  sorts  of 
things  were  walking  higgledy-piggledy  up 
the  white  wall.  .  .   . 

Then,     in    the    solemn    stillness,    the 
nightingale   began   to   sing.     Three    clear 
113  h 


The  Path  of  Life 

notes  rang  out  from  the  echoing  coppice  ; 
it  was  like  the  voice  of  the  organ  in  a 
great  church.  It  sounded  over  the  fields, 
to  die  away  in  a  low,  hushed  fluting. 
Now,  louder  and  staccato,  like  a  spiral 
stair  of  metallic  sound,  the  notes  rang  out, 
high  and  low  alternately,  in  quickening 
time,  a  running,  rustling  and  rioting,  with 
long-drawn  pipings,  wonderfully  sweet, 
that  rose  in  a  storm  of  bell-like  tinklings, 
limpid  as  water,  with  a  strength,  a  violence, 
a  precision  exceeding  the  music  of  a 
hundred  thousand  tipsy  carrillons  pealing 
through  the  silent  night.  And  now  again 
the  notes  were  softly  weaving  their  fabric 
of  sound  :  bewitchingly  quiet,  intimately 
sweet,  musingly  careful,  like  the  music  of 
tiny  glass  bells  ;  and  once  more  they  were 
louder  and  again  they  fainted  away,  borne 
on  the  still  wind  like  the  murmur  of 
angels  praying. 

The  blue  velvety  canopy  was  stretched 
on    high,   studded  with    twinkling  stars  ; 
114 


Spring 

and  all  about  the  country-side  the  trees 
stood  white.  On  the  winding  paths, 
among  the  pinks,  anemones,  guelder-roses 
and  jasmine-bushes,  walked  stately  white 
figures  in  trailing  garments,  with  wreaths 
of  white  roses  and  yellow  flowers  gleaming 
on  their  golden  tresses,  which  they  shook 
out  over  their  white  shoulders.  All  the 
world  was  one  pure  vista  full  of  blue,  curl- 
ing mist  and  fresh,  untasted  fragrance. 
A  soft  melody  of  dreamy  song  was  wafted 
through  the  air.  And  Horieneke  saw  her- 
self also  playing  in  that  great  garden,  an 
angel  among  angels.  Ropes  hung  stretched 
from  tree  to  tree  ;  and  they  swung  upon 
them  and  rocked  with  streaming  hair  and 
fluttering  garments,  floating  high  above 
the  tree-tops,  light  as  the  wind,  in  a 
shower  of  white  blossoms.  They  sang  all 
together,  with  those  who  lay  on  the  beds 
of  white  lilies  and  violets  :  a  song  of 
unheard  sweetness.  Not  one  spoke  of 
leaving  off  or  going  home ;  they  only 
115 


The  Path  of  Life 

wished  to  stay  like  that,  without  rain  or 
darkness  ;  there  was  a  continual  happy 
frolic,  a  glad  gaiety,  in  those  spacious 
halls  where,  in  spite  of  the  singing  and 
the  music,  all  things  were  yet  so  deliciously, 
languidly  still,  still  as  the  moonlight. 

Yonder,  by  the  dark  wood,  the 
steady  swish  of  a  sickle  was  heard  ; 
and  this  made  a  fearsome  noise  in  the 
tenuous  night.  A  gigantic  man  stood 
there ;  his  head  looked  over  the  trees 
and  his  wide-stretched  arms  swung  the 
sickle  and  a  pick-hook  ;  and,  stroke  by 
stroke,  the  foliage  and  the  flowers  fell 
beneath  his  hands  as  he  passed.  The 
singing  gradually  ceased,  the  swings  fell 
slack  and  the  frolic  changed  into  an 
anxious  waiting,  as  before  thunder. 
One  and  all  stood  in  terror  and  dismay 
staring  at  that  giant  approaching.  The 
blue  of  the  sky  darkened  and  the 
angels  vanished,  like  lamps  that  were 
blown  out.  The  flowers  were  faded 
116 


Spring 

and  the  whole  plain  lay  mown  flat,  like 
a  stricken  wilderness  ;  and  that  fellow 
with  his  sickle,  who  now  drew  himself 
up  to  contemplate  his  finished  work, 
was  .  .  .  her  father ! 

She  started  awake  and  trembled  with 
fright.  It  had  been  so  beautiful  that 
she  sighed  at  the  thought  of  it  ;  and 
outside  was  the  twilight  of  advancing 
dawn.  It  was  daylight !  Sunday  !  She 
jumped  out  of  bed  in  a  flash  and 
pulled  open  the  window.  The  trees 
were  there  still  and  the  flowers  too  and 
all  the  white  of  last  night,  but  so  pale, 
dim  and  colourless  beside  the  glittering 
brightness  of  a  moment  ago  .  .  .  and 
never  an  angel !  She  gave  a  sigh.  The 
sky  was  hung  with  a  thick  grey  shroud  ; 
and  in  the  east  a  long  thin  cleft  had 
been  torn  in  the  grey  ;  and  behind 
that,  deep  down,  was  a  dull-golden  glow, 
gleaming  like  a  great  brazen  serpent. 
A  keen  wind  shook  the  cherry-blossom 
U7 


The  Path  of  Lite 

and  blew  a  cold,  fragrant  air  into  the 
window.  All  the  green  distance  lay 
dead  as  yet,  half-hidden,  asleep  in  the 
morning  mist  ;  and  neither  man  nor 
beast  was  visible,  nor  even  a  wreath  of 
smoke  from  a  chimney. 

What  was  the  time  ?  She  threw  a 
wrap  over  her  shoulders,  which  were 
getting  chilled,  and  went  carefully  down 
the  bedroom  steps.  It  was  still  dark 
in  the  kitchen.  She  groped,  found  and 
lit  a  sulphur  match  and  lifted  the  flame  to 
the  clock.  Four  !  She  was  so  much  used 
to  seeing  the  hands  in  that  position  in 
the  afternoon  and  they  now  looked  so  silly 
that  she  stood  for  a  long  time  think- 
ing, foolishly,  what  she  ought  to  do  : 
call  mother  or  creep  back  into  bed  and 
sleep.  She  felt  so  uncomfortably  cold 
and  it  was  still  so  dark  :  she  went  up 
again  and  stood  looking  out. 

The  birds  twittered    in    the    trees   and 

the   wide  cleft  in  the   east  yawned  wider 
i  iS 


Spring 

and  wider.  Was  it  going  to  be  a  fine 
day  after  all  ?  Everything  for  which  she 
had  waited  so  long  was  there  now  and 
so  strange,  so  totally  different  from  what 
she  had  imagined  :  instead  of  that  leaping 
gladness  there  was  something  like  fear 
and  nervous  trembling  ;  she  could  have 
wept ;  and,  merely  for  the  sake  of  doing 
something,  she  went  down  on  her  knees 
beside  the  bed  and  said  the  prayers 
which  she  had  learnt  by  heart  : 

"  Lord  God,  I  give  Thee  my  heart. 
Deign  to  make  Thyself  a  worthy 
dwelling  in  it  and  to  abide  there  all  the 
days  of  my  life.  .  .  ." 

The  clock  struck ;  it  was  half-past 
four  and  no  one  yet  astir. 

Now  she  went  downstairs  again.  In 
the  room  lay  her  white  dress,  her 
wreath,  her  prayer-book  :  it  was  all 
ready  ;  if  only  somebody  would  wake ! 
Dared  she  call  ?  They  lay  sleeping  side 
by  side  :  father  was  snoring,  with  his 
119 


The  Path  of  Life 

mouth  open,  and  mother's  fat  stomach 
and  breasts  rose  and  fell  steadily. 

"  Mother  !  " 

Nobody  heard. 

"  Mother  !  !  " 

And  then  she  pulled  at  the  coverlet 
and  cried  repeatedly,  a  little  louder  each 
time  : 

"  Mother  !     Mother  !  !     Mother  ! !  !  " 

That  was  better.  Mother  turned  on 
her  side,  lifted  her  head  and  rubbed 
her  eyes  with  her  hands. 

"  Mother,  it's  nearly  five  ;  we  shall 
be  late  ! " 

Mother,  drunk  with  sleep,  kept  on 
looking  at  the  window  and  yawn- 
ing : 

"  Yes,  child,  I'll  come  at  once." 

She  got  up  and  came  out  in  her 
short  blue  petticoat  stretched  round 
her  fat  hips,  with  an  open  slit  behind, 
and  her  loose  jacket  and  wooden  shoes 
on.     She  lit  the    stove.     Horieneke  read 

I20 


Spring 

her  morning  prayers.  Mother's  heavy 
shoes  clattered  over  the  floor  outside 
and  in  again  ;  she  put  on  and  took  off 
the  iron  pots  with  the  goats'  food,  drew 
fresh  water  and  made  the  coffee. 

Mam'selle  Julie  was  coming  along 
the  rough  road, 

11  You're  in  good  time !  "  cried 
mother  from  the  doorway. 

c<  Good-morning,  Frazie.  Up  already, 
Horieneka  ?     It'll  be  a  fine  day  to-day." 

She  took  off  her  hooded  cloak,  put 
on  a  clean  apron  and  turned  up  her 
sleeves.  Horieneke  was  washed  all  over 
again  while  mother  poured  out  the 
coffee.  Then  they  sat  down.  Horie- 
neke kept  her  lips  tight-closed  so  as 
not  to  forget  that  she  must  remain 
fasting.  She  slowly  pulled  on  her  new 
stockings  and  stretched  out  her  hand  to 
the  bench  on  which  the  white  slippers 
lay.  She  took  off  her  sleeping-jacket 
and    her    little    skirt    and    stood    waiting 

121 


The   Path  of  Life 

in  her  shift.  When  the  tongs  were 
well  warmed,  Mam'selle  Julie  seized  the 
little  paper  twists  in  the  hot  iron  and 
opened  them  out.  From  each  fold  a 
curled  tress  came  rolling  down  ;  and  at 
last,  combed  out  and  bound  up  with 
blue-silk  ribbon,  it  all  stood  about  her 
head  in  a  light  mist  of  pale-gold  silk, 
like  a  wreath  of  light  around  her  bright, 
fresh  face.  Her  dirty  shift  was  dragged 
off  downwards  and  mother  fetched  the 
new  scapular  and  laid  it  over  the  child's 
bare  shoulders.  The  first-communion 
chemise  was  of  fine  white  linen  and 
trimmed  with  crochet  lace.  Julie  took 
out  the  folds  and  drew  it  over 
Horieneke's  head.  Then  came  white 
petticoats,  bodices  and  skirts.  The 
child  stood  passively,  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  with  her  arms  wide  apart  to 
give  free  room  to  Julie,  who  crept  round 
on  her  knees,  sticking  in  a  pin  here, 
smoothing      a      crease      there.        Mother 

122 


Spring 

fetched  the  things  as  they  were  wanted. 
There  was  a  constant  discussing,  appro- 
ving, asking  if  it  wouldn't  meet  or  if  it 
hung  too  wide,  all  in  a  whisper,  so  as 
not  to  wake  the  boys. 

There  came  a  scrabbling  overhead  and 
down  the  stairs ;  and,  before  any  one 
suspected  it,  Bertje  stood  dancing  round 
Horieneke  in  his  shirt. 

"  Jesu-Maria  !     Oo,  you  rascal !  M 

And  the  corset  which  mother  held  in 
her  hand  was  sent  flying  up  the  stairs 
after  the  boy,  who  in  three  jumps  was 
gone  and  up  above.  The  others  lay 
laughing  in  bed  when  Bertje  told  them 
that  he  had  seen  Horieneke  all  in  white, 
with  a  bunch  of  red-gold  curls  round 
her  head,  and  that  mother  had  thrown 
something  at  him. 

The  corset  was  laced  up  and  Mam'selle 

Julie    told  the    child  to    hold    her   breath 

to  let  them  get  her   body  tighter.     Now 

for     the    white     frock :     the     skirt    was 

123 


The  Path  of  Life 

slipped  down  over  her  head  until  it 
stood  out  in  light,  stiff  pleats ;  the 
white  bodice  encased  her  body  firmly 
and  stuck  out  above  the  shoulders,  its 
puffed  sleeves  trimmed  with  little  white- 
satin  bows  and  ribbons  at  every  seam 
and  fold.  Over  it  hung  the  veil,  which 
shrouded  her  as  in  a  white  cloud.  The 
wreath  was  put  on,  looked  at  from  a 
distance  and  put  on  again  until  it  was 
right  at  last,  with  the  glittering  beads 
in  front,  shining  among  the  auburn  curls, 
and  the  long  streamer  of  threaded  lilies  of 
the  valley  behind,  nestling  in  the  tresses 
on  her  back.  The  white  gloves,  her 
prayer-book  and  candle-cloth,  a  few  pen- 
nies in  her  bead  purse  ;  and  'twas  done. 

The  child  was  constantly  twisted  and 
turned  and  examined  from  every  side.  She 
did  not  know  herself  in  all  her  splendour  : 
the  Horieneke  of  yesterday,  in  her  blue 
bird's-eye  bib  and  black  frock  was  a 
poor  thing  compared  with  the  present 
124 


Spring 

Horieneke,  something  far  removed  from 
this  white  apparition,  something  quite 
forgotten.  She  stood  stiff  as  a  post  in 
the  middle  of  the  kitchen,  without 
daring  to  look  round  or  stir ;  she  felt 
so  light  and  airy  in  those  rustling  folds 
and  pleats  and  all  that  muslin  that  she 
seemed  not  to  touch  the  ground.  She 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her 
arms,  how  to  tread  with  her  feet ;  and 
her  thoughts  were  straying  :  the  part  she 
had  to  play  was  all  gone  out  of  her  head  ; 
she  would  be  as  fine  as  this  all  day  long, 
but  oh,  so  uncomfortable ! 

Mother  put  on  stockings  and  shoes, 
donned  her  cap,  turned  her  apron,  threw 
her  cloak  over  her  shoulders  ;  she  called 
her  husband  ;  then  : 

"There,  boys,  we're  off;  don't  forget 
your   drop   of  holy  water,  all    of  you  ! " 

The  door  fell  back  into  the  latch  with 
a  bang  ;  and  the  three  of  them  were  on 
the    road.     A    gust  of  wind   laden    with 

125 


The  Path  of  Life 

white  blossoms  out  of  the  orchard 
greeted  them.  Horieneke  held  the  tips 
of  her  veil  closed  against  the  wind  and 
stepped  out  like  a  little  maid  in  a  pro- 
cession. The  two  women  came  behind 
and  had  no  eyes  for  anything  but 
Horieneke  :  the  fall  of  those  white  folds, 
the  whirling  of  the  veil  and  the  dancing 
of  the  lilies  of  the  valley  in  the  auburn 
locks.     They  said  nothing. 

The  sky  still  hung  grey  with  its 
yawning  cleft  widening  in  the  east ;  and 
out  of  it  there  beamed  a  sober,  un- 
certain light,  which  fell  upon  everything 
with  a  dead  gleam  :  it  was  like  noonday 
in  winter.  Over  the  fields  and  in  the 
trees  drifted  thin  wisps  of  mist,  like 
floating  blue  veils  blown  on  by  the 
wind.  Below  in  the  meadow  the  cock 
had  started  crowing  amid  his  flock  of 
peacefully  pecking  pullets.  It  was 
very  fresh,  rather  cold  indeed,  out  on 
the  high  road. 

126 


Spring 

All  the  little  paths  led  to  the  church  ; 
and  in  every  direction,  along  the  flat 
fields,  came  people  in  their  very  best, 
with  little  white  maids.  The  wind 
played  in  their  white  veils  and  set  them 
waving  and  flapping  like  wet  flags. 

"  The  children'U  have  good  weather," 
said  Mam'selle  Julie  ;  and,  a  little  later, 
to  Horieneke,  "  What  are  you  going  to 
ask   of  Our  Lord  now,  dear  ?  V 

"  Oh,  so  much,  so  much,  Mam'selle 
Julie  !  I  myself  hardly  know.  .  .  .  For 
father  and  mother  and  all  the  family 
and  that  I  may  always  be  a  good  girl 
and  stay  at  home  with  them  and  not 
fall  among  wicked  people  and  that  we 
may  all  live  a  long  time  and  go  to 
Heaven  .  .  ." 

"  And  that  the  harvest  may  succeed  and 
we  be  able  to  pay  the  rent  .  .  .  and 
for  the  farmer  .  .  .  and  that  father  may 
keep  in  health  and  be  fit  to  work," 
mother  ordered. 

127 


The  Path  of  Life 

They  reached  the  village.  Mother 
remained  waiting  among  the  folk  in  the 
street  ;  Horieneke,  with  the  other 
youngsters,  went  through  the  school-gates 
where  their  wax  tapers  stood  burning 
above  the  bunches  of  gold  flowers  and 
leaves  shining  in  the  warm  light.  The 
children  looked  at  one  another's  clothes, 
whispered  in  one  another's  ears  what  theirs 
had  cost  and  wrangled  as  to  which 
looked  the  prettiest.  The  boys  vied 
with  one  another  in  showing  their 
bright  pennies  and  their  steel  watch- 
chains. 

The  procession  filed  out  :  first  the 
acolytes,  in  scarlet,  with  gleaming 
crucifix,  brass  candle-sticks  and  censer, 
followed  by  boys  and  girls  symbolically 
dressed,  a  lilting  dance  of  flags  and 
banners  in  brilliant  colours.  Next  came 
the  priest,  in  a  gorgeous  vestment  stiff" 
with  silk  and  silver  thread  and  gold 
tracery  ;  and,  in  two  rows,  on  either  side 
128 


Spring 

of  the  street,  preceded  by  four  little 
angels  with  gold  wings,  the  first- 
communicants,  really  such  on  this 
occasion,  in  their  proper  clothes,  with 
the  great  wax  tapers  in  their  white- 
gloved  hands  and  a  glow  in  their  faces 
and  laughter  in  their  eyes.  All  the 
people  crowded  after  them,  through 
the  street  to  the  church.  The  bells 
rang  out,  the  priest  sang  with  the 
sacristan  and  the  whole  procession 
triumphantly  entered  the  wide  church- 
doors.  There  was  a  mighty  stamping 
and  pushing  to  get  near  and  to  see  the 
children  sitting  in  straight  rows  on  the 
front  benches  of  the  nave.  The  girls 
settled  in  their  clothes  and  the  boys 
looked  down  at  their  stiff".,  wide  cloth 
breeches  and  their  new  shoes,  or  shoved 
their  fingers  up  their  noses  or  into 
their  tight  collar-bands.  The  organ 
droned  out  a  mighty  prelude  ;  the  priest, 
all  in  gold,  stood  at  the  altar  ;  the 
129  1 


The  Path  of  Life 

ceremony  began  ;  the  people  were  silent 
and  prayed  over  their  prayer-books. 

The  sun  appeared  !  And  green  and  red 
and  yellow  shafts  of  light  slanted  through 
the  stained-glass  panes  and  mingled  with 
the  blue  incense- wreaths.  They  made 
the  corners  of  the  brasswork  shine  and 
brought  smiles  to  the  faces  of  the  saints 
in  their  niches.  A  splash  of  gold  fell 
on  the  curly  heads  of  the  children,  dark 
and  fair  ;  and  tiny  rays  flashed  upon 
the  gilt  edges  of  their  prayer-books. 
The  congregation  prayed  diligently  and 
the  full  voices  sang  the  joyful  Gloria  in 
excels  is  with  the  organ. 

After  the  Gospel,  the  priest  hung  up  his 
chasuble  on  the  stand  and  mounted  the 
pulpit.  After  a  noisy  shifting  of  chairs 
and  dragging  of  feet  and  coughing,  the 
people  sat  still,  with  their  faces  turned  to 
the  priest.  He  began  by  reading  out 
the  notices  in  a  snuffling  tone  :  the 
intentions  of  the  masses  for  the  ensuing 
130 


Spring 

week  ;  the  names  of  those  about  to  be 
married  or  lately  deceased.  Then  he 
waited,  cast  his  eyes  over  that  level 
multitude  of  raised  heads,  pulled  up  his 
white  sleeves  and  turned  his  face  towards 
the  children.  His  drawling  voice  wished 
them  proficiat. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  their  lives  that 
the  youngsters  saw  that  face  turned 
expressly  towards  them  from  a  pulpit 
and  also  the  first  time  that  they  listened 
to  the  sermon  with  attention.  They  kept 
their  eyes  fixed  on  the  priest  so  as  not 
to  lose  a  word.  The  great  day  had 
arrived  ;  a  few  moments  more  and  they 
would  be  completing  the  solemn  task, 
they,  small  children,  the  task  that  was 
denied  to  the  pure  angels  in  heaven. 

u  And  that  work  must  be  the  founda- 
tion on  which  all  your  future  life  is 
based.  Your  souls  are  now  so  clean,  so 
pure,  they  are  shining  like  clear  water 
and  are  quite  spotless.  For  years  we 
131 


The  Path  of  Life 

have  taught  and  instructed  and  prepared 
you  in  order  to  teach  your  virgin  hearts, 
this  day,  now,  in  this  beautiful  chapel,  to 
receive  that  strengthening  food,  that 
miracle  of  God's  love.  Remember  it 
always  :  this  is  the  happiest  day  of  your 
lives !  You  are  still  innocent  and  about 
to  receive  the  Bread  that  raises  the 
dead,  cleanses  sinners  and  purifies  the 
fallen.  You  are  still  in  your  first 
youth,  without  experience  of  life,  and 
are  already  allowed  to  approach  the  Holy 
Table  and  share  the  strengthening  food 
that  supports  men  and  women  in  the  trials 
of  life.  This  also  is  the  propitious  moment, 
the  mighty  hour  in  which  Our  Lord  can 
refuse  you  nothing  that  you  ask  Him. 
So  make  use  of  it,  ask  Him  much,  ask 
Him  everything :  for  your  parents  and 
your  masters,  who  have  done  so  much  for 
you,  for  your  pastors,  your  village  and 
especially  for  yourselves,  that  He  may 
keep  you  from  sin  and  continue  to 
132 


Spring 

dwell  in  your  hearts  and  allow  you  to 
grow  up  into  stout  champions  of  the  faith 
and  of  your  religion.  It  is  the  happiest 
day  of  your  lives.  You  are  here  now, 
to-day,  with  your  bright,  clear  eyes,  young 
and  beautiful  as  angels ;  we  have 
watched  over  you,  sheltered  you 
against  all  that  could  have  harmed  or 
offended  your  innocence,  far  from  the 
corrupt  world  of  whose  existence  you 
have  not  even  known.  But  to-morrow 
you  will  enter  the  wide  world,  with  only 
your  weak  flesh  to  fight  against  life's 
dangers :  depravity,  falsehood,  lies  and 
sin.  Now  life  will  begin  for  you,  now 
for  the  first  time  will  you  be  called  upon 
to  fight,  to  show  courage  and  to  stand 
firm.  How  many  of  those  who  once 
sat  where  you  are  now  sitting  and  who 
were  pure  and  innocent  as  yourselves 
have  now,  alas,  become  lost  sinners, 
Judases  who  have  rejected  their  God, 
devils  as  roaring  lions  going  about 
i33 


The  Path  of  Life 

seeking  whom  they  may  devour !  Be 
strong,  listen  to  your  good  parents  :  it 
is  to  them  alone  that  you  will  have  to 
listen  henceforth.    *  .  ." 

He  turned  round  to  the  other  side 
and,  continuing  with  the  same  rise  and 
fall  in  his  voice,  the  same  gestures  of 
his  thin  right  arm,  with  the  flowing 
white  sleeve,  and  the  same  movement  of 
his  sharp  profile  high  up  above  the  con- 
gregation, he  began  once  more  : 

"To  you,  fathers  and  mothers,  I  also 
wish  a  cordial  projiciat ;  for  you  also 
this  is  a  glad  and  memorable  day. 
How  long  is  it  not  since  you  were  kneel- 
ing there  !  And  yet  that  day  always 
lingers  in  your  memory.  Since  that  time 
you  have  been  plunged  into  the  world, 
have  had  to  struggle  and  have  perhaps 
fallen  and  more  than  once  have  known  your 
courage  fail  you.  Now  your  children 
are  sitting  there !  For  years  you  have 
left  them  to  our  care  and  to-day  we 
134 


Spring 

give  them  back  to  you,  instructed,  en- 
riched and  supplied  with  all  that  they 
can  need  to  pass  onward.  You  receive 
them  this  day  from  our  hands  pure  ana 
innocent  as  on  the  day  of  their  baptism. 
It  is  for  you  henceforth  to  preserve  and 
to  maintain  that  virtue  and  purity  in 
them  ;  it  is  for  you  to  bring  up  these 
children  so  that  later  they  may  be 
exemplary  Christians.  See  to  it  that 
your  own  conduct  edifies  them  :  it  is 
according  to  you  and  all  your  actions 
that  they  will  order  their  lives  and  take 
example.  Admonish  them  in  good 
season  and  chastise  them  when  necessary  : 
1  He  that  spareth  the  rod  hateth  his 
son/  says  the  Holy  Ghost.  And  keep 
your  eyes  open,  for  God  will  ask  an 
account  of  your  stewardship  and  will 
reward  or  punish  you  according  as  you 
have  brought  them  up  well  or  ill.  A 
good  son,  a  virtuous  daughter  are  the 
joy  and  the  comfort  of  their  parents." 
i35 


The   Path  of  Life 

The  congregation  were  greatly  im- 
pressed. The  mothers  wept  :  the  priest 
was  such  a  good,  worthy  old  man,  whom 
they  had  known  all  their  Jives  ;  and 
they  liked  hearing  him  say  all  those 
beautiful  things  :  that  reference  to  their 
own  childhood  and  to  their  youngsters, 
whom  they  now  saw  sitting  there  so 
good  and  saintlike,  waiting  to  receive 
Our  Lord,  brought  the  tears  to  their 
eyes  ;  and  it  did  them  good  to  feel  their 
hearts  throb,  to  feel  that  lump  in  their 
throats ;  and  they  let  the  tears  flow  : 
after  all,  it  was  from  gladness. 

The  organ  played  softly  and  the  chan- 
ging tones  mingled  with  the  blue  wreaths 
that  ascended  from  the  sanctuary  in  a 
fragrant  cloud,  lingering  over  the  con- 
gregation. The  celebrant  offered  the 
bread  and  wine  to  Our  Father  in  Heaven. 
And  all  this  took  time ;  the  children 
were  tired  by  their  tense  concentration  ; 
their  prayers  had  all  been  said  two  and 
136 


Spring 

three  times  over ;  and  they  were  now 
vacantly  waiting  and  longing,  looking  at 
their  clothes,  at  the  stained-glass  windows 
in  the  choir  or  St.  Anne  in  her  crimson 
cloak,  or  counting  the  stars  that  were 
painted  high  up  on  the  stone  ceiling. 

The  altar-bell  tinkled  twice  and  thrice 
in  succession  ;  the  Sanctus  was  sung  ; 
and  after  that  the  organ  was  silenced. 
A  hush  fell  over  the  congregation  and 
all  heads  dropped,  as  though  mown 
down,  in  deep  reverence  :  not  one  dared 
look  up.  The  priest  genuflected,  the 
bell  sounded  repeatedly  and,  amid  that 
great  hush,  thrice  three  notes  of  the 
great  church-bell  droned  through  the 
church  and  rang  out  over  the  distant 
fields.  Outside,  it  was  all  blue  and  sun- 
shine and  silence  ;  everything  was  bowed 
in  anxious  expectation  ;  it  was  as  though 
there  were  nothing  erect  and  alive  in  the 
world  except  that  little  church  and  that 
bell.  In  the  farthest  houses  in  the 
i37 


The  Path  of  Life 

village  the  mothers  were  now  kneel- 
ing and  beating  their  breasts,  with  their 
thoughts  on  Our  Lord.  The  God  of 
Heaven  and  Earth  had  descended  and 
was  filling  all  things  with  His  awful 
presence.  Carefully,  slowly,  almost 
timidly  came  the  Adoro  te  ;  and  the 
people  little  by  little  raised  their  heads 
and  sighed,  as  though  relieved  and  still 
quite  awed  by  what  had  happened  or 
was  going  to  happen. 

And  now  the  ceremony  began.  After 
the  Agnus  Dei  and  the  three  tinkles  of 
the  bell  at  the  Domine>  non  sum  digitus, 
the  four  little  angels  came  with  hands 
folded  and  heads  bowed,  with  their 
gold-paper  wings  carefully  furled  behind 
them,  and  walked  reverently  to  the  front 
of  the  church.  Horieneke  stood  up, 
took  her  great  sheet  of  paper  and,  in 
her  clear  voice,  read  out  her  piece  so 
that  all  the  congregation  could  hear, 
though  she  stopped  to  find  her  words 
138 


Spring 

at  times  and  faltered  here  and  there  be- 
cause her  heart  was  beating  so  violently 
and  she  had  such  a  catch  in  her  throat  : 
"  Then  Thou  wilt  come  to  us,  Al- 
mighty God !  To  us  poor  little  sheep 
who,  hardly  knowing  what  we  did,  have 
so  often  offended  Thee.  We  are  not 
worthy  to  receive  Thee,  unless  Thou 
say  but  the  word  that  our  souls  may  be 
healed.  And,  as  Thou  hast  ordained,  we 
will,  in  fear  and  confidence,  approach 
Thee  as  poor  little  children  approaching 
their  kind  Father.  We  have  nothing 
wherewith  to  repay  the  great  love  which 
Thou  bearest  us ;  we  are  needy  in  all 
things  ;  and  all  things  must  come  from 
Thee.  We  are  still  very  young  and 
have  already  gone  astray,  but  we  repent 
and  are  heartily  sorry  to  have  caused 
Thee  any  grief.  And,  now  that  Thou 
art  so  unspeakably  good  to  us,  we  wish 
to  be  wholly  loyal  to  Thee  and  to  be- 
long to  Thee  with  heart  and  soul  ;  dis- 
139 


The  Path  of  Life 

pose  of  us  henceforth  as  Thy  servants 
and  we  shall  be  filled  with  joy.  Come 
then,  O  Jesus  ;  our  hearts  pant  with 
longing,  our  souls  are  now  prepared  ; 
we  have  begged  Mary,  our  dear  Mother, 
our  guardian  angels  and  our  blessed 
patron  saints  to  make  us  worthy  habita- 
tions for  Thy  majesty." 

The  silence  was  so  great  that  one 
could  hear  a  leaf  fall.  The  congrega- 
tion wriggled  where  they  knelt  to  see 
and  held  their  breaths,  full  of  expecta- 
tion. The  nun  struck  her  key  on  the 
back  of  her  chair.  Two  little  angels 
went,  step  by  step,  to  the  communion- 
bench  and  the  first  row  of  boys  and 
girls  followed.  The  little  ones  now 
looked  very  serious.  They  held  their 
heads  bowed  and  their  hands  clasped ; 
and  their  faces  shone  with  heavenly  light 
and  silent  inner  happiness.  Horieneke 
was  now  like  a  white  flower  ;  her  trans- 
parent little  waxen  face,  her  delicately 
140 


Spring 

chiselled  nose  and  closed  pink  lips  looked 
so  angelic  under  her  sunny  curls  and 
the  white  of  her  veil.  The  children 
approached  the  choir  silently  and  slowly  : 
'twas  as  though  they  were  floating.  At 
the  second  tap  of  the  key,  they  knelt  ; 
one  more  .  .  .  and  their  hands  were 
under  the  lace  communion-cloth.  From 
the  organ-loft  the  Magnificat  resounded. 
The  priest  took  the  ciborium,  gave  the 
benediction  and  with  stately  tread  de- 
scended the  altar-steps.  In  his  slender 
fingers  he  held  the  Sacred  Host,  that 
small  white  disk  which  stood  out  sharply 
above  the  silver  vessel  against  the  rich 
violet  of  his  chasuble.  The  children's 
heads  by  turn  dropped  backwards  and 
fell  upon  their  breasts,  in  ecstacy.  The 
bells  rang  out ;  the  choristers  shouted 
their  hymn  of  praise  ;  the  priest  mur- 
mured : 

"  Corpus  Domini  nostrijesu  Christ  .  .  ." 
The  key  tapped  ;  and  the  angels  kept 
141 


The  Path  of  Life 

leading  new  rows  to  the  Holy  Table 
and  bringing  the  others  away  again. 
And  the  great  work  went  on  in  solemn 
silence  amid  all  that  jubilant  music.  The 
congregation  were  lifted  up,  their  hearts 
throbbed  and  their  tears  welled  with 
happiness  and  contentment. 

The  last  row  had  come  back  ;  and 
they  were  all  now  kneeling  in  adoration 
when  the  head  boy  read  out  : 

"  What  shall  we  return  Thee,  O  Lord, 
for  what  Thou  hast  done  for  us  !  But 
now  we  were  mute,  prostrate  in  adoration, 
amazed  and  awed  by  Thy  mighty  presence 
in  our  hearts,  bowed  down  in  the  dust 
of  our  humility  ;  now  at  last  we  dare  raise 
our  heads  and  thank  Thee.  We  beseech 
Thee  that  Thou  wilt  continue  to  dwell 
in  our  hearts,  to  reign  there  and  to  pour 
forth  Thy  mercies  there  abundantly. 
We  are  frail  creatures  ;  and,  were  it  not 
that  Thou,  in  Thy  compassion,  dost 
uphold  us,  we  should  continually  and  at 
142 


Spring 

every  moment  fall  and  succumb  in  the 
rude  gusts  of  life.  We  put  our  trust 
in  Thee  and  we  know  that  Thou  wilt 
succour  us  and  that  we  shall  enter  the 
life  everlasting.     Amen.,, 

It  was  over ;  and  the  congregation 
looked  round  impatiently  to  see  how 
they  could  get  out  of  church  quickest. 
Their  tears  were  dried  and  their  thoughts 
were  once  more  fixed  on  clothes,  home, 
coffee  and  cakebread.  After  the  last 
sign  of  the  cross,  the  men  crowded  out- 
side ;  the  mothers  sought  their  youngsters, 
kept  them  out  of  the  crush  for  fear  of 
accidents  and  marched  triumphantly 
through  the  two  rows  of  sightseers  that 
stood  on  either  side  of  the  church-door. 
Now  was  the  moment  for  showing-off, 
for  congratulation  and  admiration  on 
every  side,  till  the  children  did  not 
know  which  way  to  turn  or  what  to 
say  ;  and  they  were  very  hungry.  All 
now  went  with  their  friends  to  the  tavern 
H3 


The  Path  of  Life 

for  a  drop  of  Hollands;  and  from  there 
mother  went  home  with  two  or  three 
wives  of  the  neighbourhood. 

Horieneke  walked  behind.  She  was 
all  by  herself  and  wrapped  in  contempla- 
tion :  that  great  miracle  was  now  over,  all 
of  a  sudden,  and  she  could  hardly  believe 
it.  Instead  of  enjoying  all  the  happi- 
ness for  which  she  had  waited  so  long, 
her  heart  was  full  of  distress  and  she 
felt  inclined  to  cry.  She  had  been  so 
uneasy  in  church,  so  shy  and  frightened  : 
there  was  the  reading  of  that  paper  be- 
fore all  those  people  ;  and  directly  after, 
amid  all  the  confusion,  Our  Lord  had 
come.  Hastily  and  very  distractedly 
she  had  said  her  prayers,  had  spoken, 
asked  and  prayed  and  then  waited  for 
the  miracle,  waiting  for  Our  Lord,  Who 
now,  living  in  her,  would  speak.  And 
nothing  had  happened,  nothing  :  she  had 
done  her  very  best  to  listen  amidst  the 
bustle  outside  and  around  her  .  .  .  and 
144 


Spring 

yet  nothing,  nothing  !  Meanwhile  she 
had  raised  her  head  to  breathe  .  .  .  and 
the  people  were  leaving  and  she  had 
to  go  with  them  :  it  was  finished  !  It 
had  all  been  so  matter-of-fact,  just  like 
the  communion-practice  of  yesterday, 
when  she  had  merely  swallowed  a  morsel 
of  bread.  Her  heart  beat  in  perplexity 
and  she  feared  that  she  had  made  an 
unworthy  communion. 

The  wind  blew  under  her  veil,  which 
flew  up  in  the  air  behind  her.  She  was 
so  pure,  so  unspotted  in  all  that  white  ; 
and,  cudgel  her  brains  as  she  would,  she 
could  not  remember  any  fault  or  sin 
which  she  had  omitted  to  confess. 
Though  Our  Lord  had  not  spoken  to 
her,  He  had  been  there  all  the  same 
and  she  had  not  heard  Him  because  of 
all  that  was  happening  around  her.  She 
ought  to  have  been  alone  there,  in  a 
silent  church.  Even  here,  outside,  by 
the  trees,  would  have  been  better. 

145  k 


r 


The  Path  of  Life 

The  wives  were  asked  in  to  coffee 
and  they  stood  and  waited  for  Horieneke 
at  the  garden-gate.  Indoors  everything 
was  anyhow  :  Fonske  was  going  about 
in  his  shirt,  Bertje  had  one  leg  in  his 
breeches  and  Dolfke  sat  on  the  floor, 
playing  with  Trientje.  Father  had  made 
coffee  and  stood  with  the  bottles  and 
glasses  ready,  looking  dumbfounded  at 
his  child,  now  that  he  saw  her  for  the 
first  time  in  her  white  clothes.  The 
boys  crowded  round  shyly  ;  they  no 
longer  knew  their  sister  in  this  great 
lady  ;  they  kept  hold  of  one  another 
shyly,  with  their  fingers  in  their  mouths  ; 
they  were  unable  to  speak  a  word. 
Mother  threw  off  her  cloak  and  began 
cutting  currant-bread  and  butter.  Horie- 
neke was  made  to  take  off  her  veil 
and  gloves  and  a  towel  was  fastened 
under  her  chin.  The  wives  and 
youngsters  sat  down.  First  a  drop  to 
each ;  all  drank  to  the  health  of  the 
146 


Spring 

little  first-communicant ;  they  touched 
glasses.  Father  poured  out  and  Horie- 
neke  had  to  drink  too  :  she  put  the 
stuff  to  her  lips,  pulled  a  wry  face  and 
pushed  the  glass  away.  The  boys 
dipped  and  soaked  the  bread  in  their 
coffee  ;  and  the  wives  started  talking  about 
their  young  days  and  about  clothes  and 
the  old  ways  and  the  fine  weather  and 
the  fruit-crop.  Mother  did  nothing  but 
cut  fresh  slices  of  bread-and-butter, 
which  were  snatched  away  and  gobbled 
up  on  every  side. 

"  Eat  away  !  M  said  father. 

The  hostess  of  u  The  Four  Winds " 
had  been  unable  to  take  her  eyes  off 
Horieneke  all  through  mass. 

"  Damned  pretty,  like  a  little  angel !  " 
said  Stiene  Sagaer. 

"And    a    curly    head    of  hair    like    a 
ball  of  gold  !  It  made  one's  mouth  water ! 
And  that  wreath  !  "  squealed  the  farmer's 
wife  from  the  Rent  Farm. 
i47 


The  Path  of  Life 

"  Mam'selle  Julie  had  a  hand  in  it." 

u  And  such  pretty  manners !  Well, 
dear,  Our  Lord  will  be  mighty  pleased 
with  you," 

"  And  how  nicely  she  read  that 
piece  !  "  said  Stiene.  "  My  blood  crept 
when  I  heard  it.  Look  here,  Wanne 
Vandoorn  was  sitting  beside  me  ;  and,  you 
can  take  my  word,  the  good  soul  couldn't 
control  herself  and  we  both  cried  till 
we  sobbed." 

M  I  felt  it  too,"  said  mother.  u  Such 
things  are  cruel  hearing.  And  the 
priest  ..." 

"  Ah,  he  knows  how  to  talk,  that 
holy  man  !     He's  a  pure  soul." 

"You'll  regret  it  all  your  days,  Ivo, 
that  you  weren't  there  to  see  it." 

Father  nodded  and  took  another  slice 
of  bread-and-butter. 

M  It'll  take  me  all  the  week  to  tell 
about  it  at  home,"  said  the  farmer's  wife. 

The  boys  sat  making  fun  among  them- 
148 


Spring 

selves  of  Stiene  Sagaer's  crooked  nose 
and  the  squeaky  voice  of  the  farmer's 
wife.  When  the  wives  had  done  eating, 
they  stood  up  and  went. 

When  they  had  gone  some  little  way, 
they  turned  round  again  and  cried  against 
the  wind  : 

"  It's  going  to  be  fine  to-day,  Ivo  !  " 

"  And  warm  !  "  piped  the  farmer's 
wife.     "  Beautiful  weather  !  " 

They  went  down  the  sand-path,  each 
wending  her  own  way  home. 

The  boys  were  now  dressed  and  father, 
stripped  to  the  waist,  went  out  to  wash  his 
face  under  the  trees  at  the  pump.  His 
freshly-ironed  white  shirt  was  brought  out 
and  his  shiny  boots  and  his  blue  smock- 
frock  and  black-silk  cap.  After  much 
fuss  and  turning  and  seeking,  he  got 
ready  and  the  boys  too.  Mother  was 
busy  with  the  baby  in  the  cradle  ; 
Horieneke  was  showing  her  new  holy 
pictures  to  Trientje  ;  and  Bertje  and  the 
149 


The  Path  of  Life 

other  boys  had  gone  out  to  play  in  the 
road.  The  bells  rang  again,  this  time 
for  high  mass.  Many  small  things  had 
still  to  be  rummaged  out,  clothes  to  be 
pinned  and  buttoned  ;  and  the  boys,  with 
their  Sunday  penny  in  their  pocket, 
marched  up  the  wide  road  to  high  mass. 
The  wind  had  dropped  and  the  sun 
blazed  in  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky, 
which  hung  full  of  unravelled  white 
cloud-threads,  showing  gold  at  the  edges. 
A  gay  light  lay  over  all  the  young  green  ; 
the  huge  fields  were  full  of  waving  corn, 
which  swayed  and  bowed  and  straightened 
again,  shining  in  streaks  as  under  clear, 
transparent  water.  The  trees  stood 
turned  to  the  sun,  as  though  painted,  so 
bright  that  from  a  distance  one  saw  all 
the  leaves,  finely  drawn,  gleaming  against 
the  shadows  that  lay  below.  Here  they 
stood  in  close  hedges  on  either  side  of 
the  road,  trunk  after  trunk,  making  a 
dark  wall  with  a  dense  roof  of  leafage, 
150 


Spring 

which  presently  opened  out  in  a  rift  at 
the  turn  of  the  road,  where  four  tree- 
trunks  stood  out  against  the  sky ;  and 
then  the  trees  turned  away  to  the  left 
and  were  drawn  up  in  two  new  rows, 
which  stretched  out  beside  the  road 
right  across  the  plain.  Here  and  there 
a  few  other  trees  stood  lonely  in  the 
fields,  gathered  in  small  clumps,  with  the 
light  playing  between  them  ;  and  far  away 
at  the  edge  of  the  bright  expanse,  in  a 
wealth  of  mingled  green,  amid  the  tufted 
foliage  with  its  changing  hues  and 
shadows,  the  little  pointed  church  showed 
above  the  uneven,  red-tiled  roofs.  It 
was  all  like  a  restful  dream,  made  up 
of  Sunday  peace.  Above  and  around,  all 
the  air  was  sounding  with  the  gay 
tripping  music  of  the  three  bells  as  they 
rang  together  :  a  laughing  song  in  the 
glad  sunshine,  summoning  from  afar  the 
people  who  came  from  every  side, 
clad  in  their  best.  The  boys,  in  their 
151 


The  Path  of  Life 

new  red-brown,  fustian  breeches,  stand- 
ing stiff  with  the  tailor's  crease  in 
them,  and  their  thick,  wide  jackets  and 
shiny  hats,  held  father's  hand  or  skipped 
round  Horieneke,  whom  they  could  not 
admire  enough.  In  the  village  square 
they  hid  themselves  and  went  to  the 
booth  to  see  how  they  could  best  spend 
their  pennies. 

The  people  stayed  in  the  street,  looking 
about,  and  did  not  go  into  the  church 
until  the  little  bell  tolled  out  its  tinkling 
summons  and  the  last  little  maid  had  been 
looked  at  and  had  disappeared.  Then 
the  men  knocked  out  their  pipes  against 
the  tips  of  their  shoes  and  sauntered  in 
through  the  wide  church-door. 

The  incense  still  hung  about  the  aisles 
and  the  sun  sifted  its  golden  dust  through 
the  stained-glass  windows  right  across 
the  church.  The  congregation  stood 
crowded  and  crammed  together  behind 
their  chairs,  looking  at  the  gilt  of  the 
152 


Spring 

flowers  and  at  the  great  mountain  of 
votive  candles  that  were  burning  before 
the  altar.  The  organ  had  all  its  pipes 
wide  open ;  and  music  streamed  forth 
in  great  gusts  that  resounded  in  the 
street  outside.  The  priest  sang  and 
rough  men's  voices  chanted  the  responses 
with  the  full  power  of  their  throats.  And 
the  high  mass  proceeded  slowly  with 
its  pomp  of  movement  and  song.  The 
congregation  prayed  from  their  books 
or,  overcome  by  the  heat,  sat  yawning 
or  gazing  at  the  incense-wreaths  or 
started  nodding  on  their  chairs.  The 
saints  stood  stock-still,  smiling  from 
their  pedestals  and  proud  in  their  high 
day  finery.  When  the  singing  ceased, 
one  heard  through  the  dreamy  murmur 
of  the  organ  the  spluttering  of  the 
burning  candles  and  the  clatter  on  the 
brass  dish  of  the  sacristan  making  the 
collection.  The  priest  once  more 
mounted  the  pulpit  and,  with  the  same 
i53 


The  Path  of  Life 

gestures  and  action,  delivered  the  same 
admonitions  as  earlier  in  the  morning. 
Again  the  people  sat  listening  and 
weeping  ;  others  slept.  More  organ- 
music  and  singing  and  praying  and  the 
mass  came  to  an  end  and  the  priest 
turned  to  the  congregation  and  gave 
the  blessing.  They  streamed  out  of 
church  in  a  thick  crowd  and  stood  in 
the  road  again  to  see  the  youngsters 
pass.  Then  all  of  them  made  their 
several  ways  to  the  taverns.  The  first- 
communicants  had  to  call  on  aunts  and 
cousins  and  friends  ;  and  the  poorer 
children  went  to  show  their  clothes 
and  asked  for  pennies. 

Horieneke  and  father  and  the  brothers 
went  straight  home  to  await  the  visitors. 
Before  they  reached  the  door,  they  smelt 
the  butter  burning  in  the  pan,  the  roast 
and  the  vegetables.  The  stove  roared 
softly  ;  and  on  the  flat  pipe  stood  earthen 
and  iron  pots  and  pans  simmering  and 
i54 


Spring 

fretting  and  sending  up  clouds  of  steam 
to  the  rafters.  Amidst  it  all,  mother 
hurried  to  and  fro  in  her  heavy  wooden 
shoes.  Her  body  still  waggled  in  her 
wide  jacket  and  blue  petticoat.  Her 
face  shone  with  grease  and  perspiration. 
She  puffed  and  sighed  in  the  intolerable 
heat.  The  blue  chequered  cloth  lay 
spread  on  the  table  ;  and  all  around  were 
the  plates  with  the  freshly  tinned  spoons 
and  forks  and  little  beer-glasses1.  Out- 
side, the  boys  sat  in  the  top  of  the 
walnut-tree,  waiting  and  peering  for  any 
one  coming.  Father  had  taken  off  his 
blue  smock  and  turned  up  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  now  went  to  see  to  his  birds.  That 
was  his  great  hobby  and  his  work  on 
Sunday  every  week.  All  the  walls  were 
hung  with  cages  :  in  that  big  one  were 
two    canaries,    pairing  ;    in    the    next,    a 

1  The  West- Flemings  brew  a  beer  so  extremely 
strong  that  it  is  served  in  quite  small  glasses,  not 
more  than  half  the  size  of  an  ordinary  tumbler. 
155 


The  Path  of  Life 

hen-canary  sitting  on  her  eggs  ;  and  in 
a  little  wire  castle  lived  a  linnet  and  a 
cock-canary  and  three  speckled  young- 
sters. The  finches  were  in  a  long  row 
of  darkened  cages  and  moulting-boxes. 
When  he  put  out  his  hands,  the  whole 
pack  started  singing  and  whistling  ; 
they  sprang  and  fluttered  against  the 
bars  and  pecked  at  his  fingers.  He  took 
the  cages  down  one  by  one,  put  them 
on  the  table  and  whistled  and  talked  to 
his  birds,  cleaned  the  trays  and  filled  the 
troughs  with  fresh  water  and  seed.  The 
canary-bird  got  a  lump  of  white  sugar 
and  the  linnet  half  an  egg,  because  of 
her  young  ones.  Then  he  stood  and 
watched  them  washing  their  beaks  and 
wings  and  splashing  in  the  water,  pecking 
at  their  troughs  now  full  of  seed  and 
at  their  sugar  and  cheerfully  hopping 
on  and  off  their  perches.  Then,  when 
they  were  all  hung  up  again  in  their 
places  on  the  wall,  they  all  started 
156 


Spring 

whistling  together  till  the  kitchen  rang 
with  it.  The  baby  screamed  in  its 
cradle.  Trientje  cried  and  mother 
stamped  across  the  floor  in  her  heavy 
wooden  shoes. 

"  Hi,  mates,  I  see  something  !  "  Fon- 
ske  called  from  the  walnut-tree. 

The  boys  stretched  their  necks  and  so 
did  father  :  it  was  jogging  along  in  the 
distance,  coming  nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Uncle  Petrus  and  Aunt  Stanse  in 
the  dog-cart  !  " 

They  slithered  out  of  the  tree  like 
cats  and  ran  down  the  road  as  fast  as 
they  could.  The  others  now  plainly 
heard  the  wheels  rattling  and  saw  the 
great  dogs  tugging  and  leaping  along 
as  if  possessed.  High  up  in  the  car  sat 
uncle,  with  his  tall  hat  on  his  round 
head,  bolt  upright  in  his  glossy  black- 
broadcloth  coat ;  and  beside  him  broad- 
bodied  Aunt  Stanse,  with  coloured 
ribbons  fluttering  round  her  cap  and 
i57 


The  Path  of  Life 

a    glitter  of   beads  upon  her  breast.     In 
between    them    sat  Cousin    Isidoor,   half- 
hidden,  waving  his    handkerchief.     They 
came    nearer   still,  jolting    up    and  down 
through   the  streaks  of   shade    and    sun- 
light   between    the   trees.     Uncle    Petrus 
flourished  his  hand,  pushed  his  hat  back 
and   urged    the  dogs   on  ;  aunt   sat    with 
her  face  aflame  and    the  drops    of   sweat 
on    her    chubby    cheeks,    laughing,    with 
her  hands  on    her    hips,  because    of  the 
shaking  of  her   fat  stomach.     The  dogs 
barked  and   leapt    right   and    left   at   the 
boys.     Petrus  jumped  nimbly  out  of  the 
cart,    ran    along    the    shafts    and    led    the 
team    with    a    stylish    turn    out    of    the 
road,    through    the    gate,    into   the   little 
garden,  where  it    pulled    up  in    front    of 
the  door.     The  dogs  stood  still,  panting 
and   lolling  out    their   tongues.     Mother 
was   there    too    and    cried,    "  Welcome,'' 
and  took  Doorke  under  the  armpits  and 

lifted  him  out  of  the  cart.     Aunt  began 
158 


Spring 

by  handing  out  baskets,  parcels  and 
bundles.  Then,  sticking  out  her  fat 
legs,  in  their  white  stockings,  she  climbed 
out  of  the  cart  and  looked  round  at  the 
youngsters,  who  already  stood  hankering 
to  know  what  was  in  the  basket. 

11  Well,  bless  me,  Frazie,  I  needn't 
ask  you  how  it  goes  with  the  chickens  ! 
There's  a  whole  band  of  them  and  all 
sound  and  .well  :  just  look  at  them ! 
Oh,  you  fatty ! "  And  she  pinched 
Bertje's  red  cheeks.  "And  you  too, 
Frazie." 

"  Look  at  the  state  I'm  in  ! "  said 
mother,  sticking  her  hands  under  the 
apron  stretched  tight  across  her  fat 
stomach  and  looking  down  at  her  bare 
legs.  "Such  a  heap  to  do,  no  time  to 
dress  yet." 

"  You're  all  right  as  you  are,  Frazie  ; 

you've  no   need  to    hide    your    legs    nor 

t'other     either  :      you've      a      handsome 

allowance    of  both,"  said    Uncle    Petrus, 

i59 


The  Path  of  Life 

chaffingly.  "  I'd  like  a  drop  of  water 
for  the  dogs,  though." 

Father  sent  the  bucket  toppling  down 
the  well  and  turned  the  handle  till  it 
rose  filled.  The  dogs  stuck  their  heads 
into  the  bucket  and  lapped  and  gulped 
greedily.  Cousin  stood  staring  bashfully 
amid  all  those  peasant- lads  and  all  that 
jollity,  while  Bertje,  Fonske  and  the 
others  too  did  not  come  near,  but  stood 
looking  at  the  little  gentleman  with  his 
fine  clothes  and  his  thin,  peaky  face ; 
they  trotted  and  turned,  whispered  to 
one  another,  went  outside  and  came 
back  again,  laughed  and  said  nothing. 

"But  the  first-communicant!  Where's 
Horieneke  ?  "  asked   Stanse,  suddenly. 

From  the  little  green  arbour,  in 
between  the  trees,  a  golden  curly-head 
came  peeping,  followed  by  a  little  white 
body  and  little  Trientje  too,  holding 
a  great  bunch  of  yellow  daffodils  in  her 
hand.  Stanse  stuck  out  her  arms  in  the  air  : 
160 


Spring 

u  Oh,  you  little  butterfly  !  Come  along 
here,  you're   as  lovely  as  an  angel !  " 

And  she  lifted  Horieneke  from  among 
the  flowers,  right  up  to  her  beaded 
breast,  and  pressed  her  thick  lips  to  the 
child's  forehead  with  a  resounding  smack. 

u  Godmother,  godmother,"  whimpered 
Trientje. 

u  Yes,  you  too,  my  duck !  M 

And  the  child  forthwith  received  two 
fat  kisses  on  its  little  cheeks. 

The  dogs  were   now   unharnessed  and 

father  and  Petrus  had  gone   for   a  stroll 

in  the  orchard.     The  boys  stood  crowding 

against  the  table,  looking  at  aunt  undoing 

her  parcels.     In  one  were  sweet  biscuits, 

in     another     brandy-balls,     peppermints, 

pear-drops    and     toffy.       All     this     was 

carefully    divided    into   little    stacks    and 

each  child  was  given  his  share,  with  the 

strict    injunction    not  to    eat    any    before 

noon.     Fonske    hid   his    in    the    drawer, 

next    to    the    canary-seed,    Dolfke  his   in 
161  L 


The  Path  of  Life 

the  cupboard  and  Bertje  shoved  his 
portion  into  his  pockets.  It  was  not 
long  before  three  or  four  of  them  were 
fighting  like  thieves  and  robbers,  while 
Stanse  and  Frazie  went  to  look  at  the 
baby,  which  lay  sleeping  quietly  in  the 
cradle. 

First  one  more  drop  of  cherry-gin  apiece 
and  then  to  dinner.  The  soup  stood 
ready  ladled  out,  steaming  in  the  plates. 
Horieneke  sat  demurely  in  the  middle, 
next  to  Doorke,  with  uncle  and  aunt  on 
either  side  and,  lower  down,  father  and 
all  the  children  :  mother  had  to  keep 
moving  to  and  fro,  waiting  on  them, 
snatching  a  mouthful  now  and  again 
betweenwhiles.  When  every  one  was 
served  and  Trientje  had  stammered  out 
her  Our  Father  aloud,  father  once  more 
stood  up,  as  the  master  of  the  house, 
and  said  : 

"  You   are  all  of  you  welcome  and   I 
wish  you  a  good  appetite.' * 
162 


Spring 

The  spoons  began  to  clatter  and  the 
tongues  to  wag  :  uncle  praised  the  deli- 
cious leek-soup,  so  did  aunt ;  and  then 
came  endless  questions  from  every  side 
about  the  news  of  the  district  and  all 
that  had  happened  during  the  last  ten 
or  twelve  years,  ever  since  Frazie  had 
married  and  left  her  home. 

The  children  sat  staring  with  wide- 
open  eyes,  now  at  their  plates,  now  at 
aunt  with  her  fat  cheeks  and  her  diamond 
cross  that  hung  glittering  at  the  end  of 
a  gold  chain  on  her  enormous  breast ; 
they  counted  the  rings  that  were  spitted 
on  her  fingers  right  up  to  the  knuckles  ; 
they  gazed  at  her  earrings.  ...  As  the 
soup  went  down,  the  faces  began  to 
shine  and  mother  pulled  at  her  jacket  and 
complained  of  the  dreadful  heat.  Father 
pushed  up  the  window  and  opened  the 
back-door.  The  wind  and  the  scented 
air,  with  pollen  from  the  cherry-trees, 
now  blew  across  the  table  and  played 
163 


The  Path  of  Life 

refreshingly  in  their  necks  and  ears. 
Mother  kept  on  running  about  and 
serving  :  it  was  hot  carrots  now  and  boiled 
beef.  Father  took  the  flowered  milk-jug 
and  filled  the  little  tumblers  with  beer. 
Slices  of  meat  and  fat  were  cut  off  with 
the  big  carving-knife  and  distributed  ; 
each  received  his  plateful  of  glistening 
carrots ;  and  the  forks  went  bravely  to 
work.  After  that,  the  great  iron  pot 
was  set  on  the  table,  with  the  rabbits, 
which,  roasted  brown,  lay  outstretched 
in  the  appetizing,  simmering  gravy  that 
smelt  so  good  ;  and  beside  it  a  dish  of 
steaming  potatoes.  The  little  tumblers 
were  emptied  and  filled  again  ;  in  be- 
tween the  loud  talking  you  could  hear 
the  crunching  of  the  teeth  and  the 
cracking  of  the  bones  ;  the  children  sat 
smeared  to  their  eyes  and  picked  the 
food  in  their  plates  with  their  hands. 
Uncle's  eyes  began  to  twinkle  and  he 
started  making  jokes,  so  much  so  that 
164 


Spring 

aunt  had  every  moment  to  stop  eating 
for  laughing ;  then  her  broad  head  would 
fall  backwards  and  her  cheeks,  which 
bloomed  like  ripe  peaches,  creased  up 
and  displayed  two  rows  of  gleaming 
ivory  teeth.  It  all  turned  to  a  noisy  gig- 
gling ;  and  the  general  merriment  could 
be  heard  far  away  in  the  other  houses. 

Uncle  Petrus  enjoyed  teasing  his 
sister  and  made  her  cry  out  each  time 
he  declared  that,  for  all  her  waiting  at 
table  and  running  about,  she  had  eaten 
more  than  he  and  Brother  Ivo  put 
together  and  that  it  was  no  wonder  she 
had  grown  such  a  body  and  bred  such 
fine  youngsters.  The  mighty  din  woke 
the  baby  and  started  it  crying  loudly  in 
its  cradle.  Fonske  took  it  out  and  put  it 
in  mother's  lap.  It  was  as  fresh  and  pink 
as  a  rose-bud  ;  it  kicked  its  little  legs 
about  and  shoved  its  fists  into  its  eyes. 

H  Yes,  darling,  you're  hungry  too,  I 
expect." 

165 


The  Path  of  Life 

And  she  unbuttoned  her  jacket  and 
from  behind  her  shift  produced  her 
great  right  breast.  The  baby  stuck  its 
hands  into  that  wealth  of  whiteness, 
seized  the  proffered  nipple  in  its  mouth 
and  started  greedily  sucking.  After  the 
first  eager  gulps  it  gradually  quieted, 
closed  its  eyes  and  lay  softly  drinking, 
rocked  on  mother's  heaving  lap. 
Isidoorke  kept  looking  at  this  as  at 
something  very  strange  that  alarmed 
him.  Horieneke,  noticing  it,  held  up 
a  rabbit-leg  to  him  and  told  him  of  those 
pretty  white  rabbits  which  she  had  seen 
slaughtered  yesterday.  The  other  young- 
sters had  now  eaten  their  fill  and  began 
to  feel  terribly  bored  at  table.  Bertje 
gave  Fonske  a  kick  on  the  shin  and 
they  went  outside  together,  whispering 
like  boys  with  some  roguery  in  view. 
Wartje,  Dolfke  and  the  others  followed 
them  outside.  When  it  was  all  well 
planned,  they  beckoned  behind  the  door 
1 66 


Spring 

to    Doorke  ;    and,    when    the    little    man 
came  out  at  last  : 

**  Is  it  true,  Doorke  ?  Do  you  dare 
go  among  the  dogs  ?  " 

And  they  led  him  on  gently  by  his 
velvet  jacket,  behind  the  house  to  the 
bake-house,  where  the  dogs  lay  blinking 
in  the  shade,  with  their  heads  stretched 
on  their  paws. 

Doorke  nodded  ;  and,  to  show  how 
well-behaved  they  were,  he  went  close 
up  to  them  and  stroked  their  backs. 

"  And  is  it  also  true,"  asked  Bertje, 
with  mischievous  innocence,  "  that  you 
know  how  to  harness  them  ?  " 

Doorke  looked  surprised  and  again 
nodded  yes. 

"  Let's  see  if  you  dare  !  " 

u  Hoo,  hoo,  Baron  !  "  said  Doorke. 

And  he  took  the  dog  by  the  collar, 
put  the  girths  on  him  and  fastened 
the  traces  while  Fonske  held  up  the 
cart. 

167 


The  Path  of  Life 

"And  that  other  one  too  ? " 

Doorke  did  the  same  with  the  other 
dog  and  with  the  third  ;  and  they  were 
now  all  three  harnessed.  Bertje  took  the 
cart  by  the  shafts  and  drew  it  very 
softly,  without  a  sound,  under  the 
windows  and  through  the  little  gate 
into  the  road.  The  other  boys  bit  their 
fingers,  held  their  breaths  and  followed 
on  tip-toe.  Then  they  all  crept  into  the 
cart  ;  and,  when  they  were  comfortably 
seated,  Bertje  took  the  reins  and  : 

"  Gee  up  !  " 

Wartje  struck  the  dogs  with  the 
handle  of  the  whip  and  they  leapt 
forward  lustily  and  the  cart  rolled  along 
through  the  clouds  of  dust  rising  from 
the  sandy  road. 

Horieneke    had    come      up    too     and 

watched   this  silent    sport ;   and    she  now 

stood  alone  with    Doorke,  looking    along 

the  trees,  where  the  cart  was  disappearing 

towards    the    edge   of   the  wood.     When 
1 68 


Spring 

there    was    nothing    more    to    see,    they 
both  went  indoors. 

Uncle  and  aunt  and  father  were  now 
talking  quietly  and  earnestly,  over  three 
cups  of  coffee.  Mother  still  sat  with 
the  baby  on  her  lap,  where  it  had 
fallen  asleep  while  sucking.  Aunt  was 
constantly  wiping  the  glistening  perspira- 
tion from  her  forehead ;  and  she  un- 
buttoned her  silk  dress  because  she  had 
eaten  too  much  and  her  heart  was 
beginning  to  swell. 

"Shouldn't  we  be  better  out  of 
doors  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mother  tucked  in  her  breast,  buttoned 
her  jacket  and  laid  the  child  carefully 
in  the  cradle,  near  Trientje,  who  sat 
sleeping  in  her  little  baby-chair.  They 
left  everything  as  it  was  :  table  and 
plates  and  pots  and  glasses.  Father  and 
uncle  filled  their  pipes  and  went  outside 
under  the  elder-tree,  in  the  shade.  The 
wives  tucked  their  clothes  between  their 
169 


The  Path  of  Life 

legs  and  lay  down  in  the  grass.  Aunt 
had  carefully  rolled  up  her  silk  skirt 
and  was  in  her  white  petticoat. 

They  now  went  on  talking  :  an 
incessant  tattle  about  getting  children 
and  bringing  them  up,  about  house- 
keeping and  about  land  and  sand  and 
parish  news,  until,  overcome  by  the 
heat  and  the  weight  of  their  bodies, 
they  let  their  heads  fall  and  closed 
their  eyes  and  seemed  to  sleep.  Uncle 
and  father  stood  looking  at  them  a 
little  longer  and  then,  in  their  white 
shirt-sleeves,  with  their  thumbs  in  their 
tight  trouser-bands,  went  up  the  narrow 
little  path,  in  the  blazing  sun,  to  look  at 
the  wheat  and  the  flax,  which  were 
already  high. 

Horieneke  and  Doorke  were  now  left 
looking  at  each  other.  Horieneke  began 
to  tire  of  this  ;  and  she  took  the  boy 
by  the  hand  and  led  him  into  the 
house  and  up  to  her  room.  There 
170 


Spring 

she  showed  him  her  holy  pictures  on 
the  wall  and  her  little  statues  ;  they  sat 
down  side  by  side  on  the  bed  ;  and 
Horieneke  told  him  the  whole  of  her  life 
and  the  doings  of  the  last  few  days,  all 
that  she  had  longed  for  and  to-day's 
happiness.  The  boy  listened  to  her 
gladly  ;  he  looked  at  her  with  his  big, 
brown  eyes  and  sat  still  closer  to  her 
on  the  bed.  He  had  now  to  see  her 
pretty  clothes ;  and  they  went  together 
to  the  best  bedroom  where  the  veil  lay 
and  the  wreath  and  her  prayer-book 
and  earrings.  She  must  next  really 
show  him  what  she  had  looked  like  that 
morning  in  church  ;  and  he  helped  her 
put  on  the  veil,  placed  the  wreath  on  her 
curls  and  then  took  a  few  steps  back- 
wards to  see.  He  thought  her  very 
pretty  ;  and  they  smiled  happily.  Then 
everything  was  taken  off  again ;  and 
they  went  hand  in  hand,  like  a  brother 
and  sister  who  had  not  seen  each  other 
171 


The  Path  of  Life 

for  some  time,  to  walk  in  the  little 
flower-garden.  Here  they  looked  at 
every  leaf  and  named  every  flower  that 
was  about  to  open.  When  everything 
had  been  thoroughly  inspected,  they  sat 
and  chatted  in  the  box  arbour,  very 
seriously,  like  grown-up  people.  Then 
they  also  became  tired  and  Horieneke 
put  her  arm  over  Doorke's  shoulder, 
allowed  her  golden  curls  to  play  in  his 
eyes  and  in  this  way  they  walked  out, 
down  the  road,  towards  the  wood. 
Here  they  were  all  alone  with  the  birds 
twittering  in  the  trees  and  the  crickets 
chirping  in  the  grass  beside  the  ditch. 

Everywhere,  as  far  as  they  could  see, 
was  corn  and  green  fields  and  sunshine 
and  stillness.  They  strolled  down  the 
long,  cheerful  road.  Doorke  held  his 
arm  round  Horieneke's  tight-laced  little 
waist  and  listened  to  all  the  new  things 
which  his   cousin    described    so    prettily ; 

and     she    too    felt    a    great    delight     in 
172 


Spring 

having  this  boy,  with  his  brown  eyes 
and  his  lean  shoulder-blades,  beside  her, 
listening  to  her  and  looking  at  her  and 
understanding  her  ever  so  much  better 
than  her  rough  little  brothers  did.  She 
would  have  liked  to  walk  on  all  her  life 
like  this,  in  that  golden  sunshine,  telling 
him  how  she  had  read  that  beautiful 
prayer  in  church  this  morning  .  .  .  and 
about  the  priest's  sermon  .  .  .  and  those 
pretty  angels  with  their  gold  wings, 
who  had  walked  up  and  down  so  calmly 
and  placidly  ;  about  her  dread  during 
the  communion-mass  and  her  fear  and 
sorrow  because  Our  Lord  had  not  spoken 
in  her  little  heart.  And  so,  talking  and 
listening,  they  came  to  the  wood.  It 
looked  so  pleasant  under  those  pollard 
alders  in  the  shade  and  farther  on  in 
the  dark,  among  the  spruces,  where  the 
light  filtered  through  in  meagre  rays, 
after  that  long  walk  in  the  blinding 
sun. 

173 


The  Path  of  Life 

11  Let's  go  in  !  "  said  Doorke  and  was 
on  the  point  of  going  down  the  little 
path  that  ran  beside  the  ditch,  in  among 
the  trees. 

"  We  mustn't  ! "  said  Horieneke  ;  and 
she  clutched  him  by  the  arm. 

Her  face  grew  very  serious  and  she 
wrinkled  her  forehead  : 

"  Look  there  !  " 

And  she  pointed  through  a  gap 
between  the  trees  down  to  the  valley 
where,  above  the  tall  trunks,  they  could 
see  the  whole  expanse  of  a  big  home- 
stead, with  the  long  thatched  roofs  of 
stable  and  barn  and  the  tiles  and  slates 
of  the  house  and  turrets.  She  put  her 
mouth  to  his  ear  and  whispered  : 

**  That's  where  the  rent- farmer  lives 
.  .  .  and  he's  a  bad,  bad  man.  He  does 
wicked  things  to  the  little  girls  who  go 
into  the  wood  ;  and  mother  says  that 
then  they  fall  ill  and  die  and  then  they 
go  to  Hell !  " 

i74 


Spring 

Doorke  did  not  understand  very  well, 
but  he  saw  from  Horieneke's  wide-open 
eyes  that  it  was  serious.  They  sat  down 
together  on  the  edge  of  the  ditch,  with 
their  legs  in  the  grass,  played  with  the 
daisies  and  listened  to  the  thrushes 
gurgling  deep  down  in  the  wood.  They 
sat  there  for  a  long  time.  The  sun 
sank  to  the  top  of  the  oak  ;  the  sky  was 
flecked  with  white  clouds  which  shot 
through  the  heavens  in  long  diverging 
shafts,  like  a  huge  peacock's  tail  upon 
an  orange  field. 

The  children  mused  : 

11 1  should  like  to  fall  down  dead,  here 
and  now,"  said  Horieneke. 

Doorke  looked  up  in  surprise  : 

"Why,  Horieneke?" 

"Then    I    should    be    in    Heaven    at 


once." 


They  again  sat  thinking  a  little  : 
u  Playing  with  the  angels  !  .  .  .   Have 
you  ever  seen  angels,  Doorke  ? M 
i75 


The  Path  of  Life 

"  Yes,  in  the  procession,  Horieneke." 
"  Ah,  but  I  mean  live  ones  !  I  saw 
some  last  night,  live  ones  ;  and  they 
were  in  white,  Doorke,  with  long  trains 
and  golden  hair  and  diamond  crowns,  and 
they  were  singing  in  a  beautiful  gar- 
den !■.;.•■ 

With  raised  eyebrows  and  earnest 
gestures  of  her  little  forefinger,  she  told 
him  all  her  dream  of  the  angels  and  the 
swings  and  the  singing  and  the  music 
.  .  .  and  of  father  with  his  sickle. 

Doorke  hung  upon  her  words. 

The  thrush  started  anew  and  they 
sat  listening. 

"  What  will  you  do  when  you  grow 
up,  Doorke  ?  " 

And  she  put  her  arm  round  the  boy's 
neck  again  and  looked  fondly  into  his 
eyes  : 

"  Will  you  get  married,  Doorke  ? " 

Doorke  shook  his  head. 

u  Not  even  to  me  ?  " 
176 


Spring 

And  she  looked  at  him  with  such  a 
roguish  smile  that  the  boy  felt  ashamed. 
Then,  to  comfort  him,  she  said  : 

"  Nor  I  either,  Doorke.  Do  you 
know  what  I'm  going  to  do  ?  " 

"No,  Horieneke." 

"  Listen,  Doorke,  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it,  but  promise  on  your  soul  not 
to  tell  anybody  :  Bertje,  Fonske  and  all 
the  rest  mustn't  know." 

Doorke  nodded. 

M  Father  wanted  me  to  go  into  service 
down  there,  with  all  those  wicked 
people.  Then  I  cried  for  days  and  days 
and  prayed  to  Our  Lord  ;  and  mother 
told  father  that  I  was  dying  ;  and  then 
she  said  that  I  might  .  .  .  Try  and 
guess,  Doorke  !  " 

Doorke  made  no  attempt  to  guess. 
Then  she  drew  him  closer  to  her  and 
whispered  : 

"  Mother  said  I  might  stay  at  home 
and  help  her  .  .  .  and    afterwards,  when 

177  M 


The  Path  of  Life 

I  am  grown  up  ...  I  shall  become  a 
nun,  Doorke,  in  a  convent ;  but  first 
mother  must  get  another  baby,  a  new 
Horieneke.  .  .  .  And  you  ?  " 

The  boy  didn't  know. 

u  And  you,  Doorke,  must  learn  to  be 
a  priest ;  then  you  and  I  will  both  go  to 
Heaven.' ' 

Behind  them,  on  the  road,  came  a 
noise  and  a  rush  and  an  outcry  so  great 
that  the  children  started  up  in  fright. 
Look !  It  was  Bertje  and  all  the  little 
brothers  in  the  dog-cart,  which  was 
coming  back  home  through  the  sand. 
When  they  saw  cousin  and  Horieneke, 
they  raised  a  mighty  shout  of  joy  and 
stopped.  Bertje  stood  erect  and  issued 
his  commands :  all  the  boys  must  get 
out  ;  he  would  remain  sitting  on  the 
front  seat,  with  Horieneke  and  Doorke 
side  by  side  behind  him,  between  two 
leafy  branches,  like  a  bride  and  bride- 
groom !  Fonske  cut  two  branches  from 
i7« 


Spring 

an  alder-tree  and  fastened  them  to 
either  side  of  the  cart.  Then  they 
set  out,  amid  the  shouting  and  cheering 
of  the  boys  running  in  front  and  behind  : 

"  Ready  ?  " 

«  Ye-e-es  !  " 

The  dogs  gave  an  angry  jerk  forward 
and  the  cart  went  terribly  fast  and 
Doorke  clutched  Horieneke  with  one 
hand  and  with  the  other  warded  off  the 
hanging  willow-twigs  that  lashed  their 
faces. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  and  a  red 
light  was  glowing  in  the  west,  high  up 
in  the  tender  blue.  The  air  had  turned 
cooler  and  a  cold,  clammy  damp  was 
falling  over  the  fields,  which  now  lay 
steaming  deadly  still  in  the  rising 
mist  that  already  shrouded  the  trees  in 
blue  and  darkened  the  distances. 

At  the  turn  of  the  road,  the  children 
stepped  out  of  the  cart  and  put  it  away 
carefully  behind  the  bake-house,  tied  up 
179 


The  Path  of  Life 

the  panting  dogs  and  sauntered  into  the 
house. 

"  Father,  we've  been  out  with  cousin,1 ' 
said  Bertje. 

They  had  to  take  their  coffee  and 
their  cakebread-and-butter  in  a  hurry :  it 
was  time  to  put  the  dogs  in,  said 
uncle. 

Doorke  said  they  were  put  in. 

Frazie  helped  her  sister  on  with  her 
things  : 

u  You'll  find  the  looking-glass  hanging 
in  the  window,  Stanse.  I  must  go  and 
put  on  another  skirt  too  and  come  a 
bit  of  the  way  with  you." 

The  boys  were  to  stay  at  home ; 
they  got  the  rest  of  the  sweets  and  were 
ordered  to  bed  at  once.  Horieneke  was 
told  to  take  off  her  best  clothes  ;  it  was 
evening  and  the  goats  had  still  to  be 
fed.  She  went  to  her  little  room  reluc- 
tantly   and    could    have   cried    because   it 

was   all    over    now   and    because   it    was 
180 


Spring 

so  melancholy  in  the  dark.  She  felt 
ashamed  when  she  came  down  again  and 
glanced  askance  at  Doorke,  who  would 
think  her  so  plain  in  her  week-day 
clothes.  The  boy  looked  at  her  and 
said  nothing  ;  then  he  jumped  into  the 
cart  and  drove  off  slowly.  Mother  with 
Stanse  and  father  with  uncle  came 
walking  behind. 

It  was  still  light ;  the  evening  was 
falling  slowly,  slowly,  as  though  the  day- 
light would  never  end.  In  the  west  the 
sky  was  hung  with  white  and  gold 
tapestry  against  an  orange  background. 
On  the  other  side,  the  moon,  very  wan 
still,  floated  in  the  pale-blue  all  around  it. 
Beside  the  bluey  trees  long  purple  stripes 
of  shadow  now  lay,  with  fallen  clusters 
of  branches,  on  the  plain.  You  could 
hardly  tell  if  day  or  night  were  at  hand. 

Uncle  and  aunt  were  extremely  pleased 
with  their  visit ;  uncle  looked  contentedly 
into  the  distance  and  boasted  that  he 
i8x 


The  Path  of  Life 

had  never  seen  such  an  evening  nor  such 
fine  weather  so  early  in  the  year,  while 
Frazie  at  each  step  flung  her  arms  into 
the  air  and  stopped  to  say  things  to 
Stanse,  whose  good-natured  laugh  rang 
out  over  the  plain  and  along  the  road. 
In  front  of  them,  Doorke,  like  a  little 
black  shadow,  danced  up  and  down  in 
his  cart  to  the  jolting  of  the  wheels  as 
he  jogged  quietly  along.  The  crickets 
chirped  in  the  ditch  ;  and  from  high  up 
in  the  trees  came  the  dying  twitter  of 
birds  about  to  go  to  sleep. 

Father  wanted  to  drink  a  parting  glass 
of  beer  in  the  Swan  ;  Doorke  could 
drive  along  slowly. 

"Just  five  minutes  then,"  said  Petrus. 

There  were  many  people  in  the  inn 
and  much  loud  merriment.  The  new 
arrivals  were  soon  sitting  among  the 
others,  staying  on  and  listening  to  all 
the  jolly  songs  ;  and,  when  this  had  gone 
on  for  some  time,  they  forgot  the  hour 
182 


Spring 

and  the  parting.  Aunt  Stanse  held 
her  stomach  with  laughing  ;  she  was 
not  behindhand  when  the  glasses  had  to 
be  emptied  or  when  her  turn  came  to 
sing  a  song.  Amid  the  turmoil,  the 
rent-farmer  came  up  to  Frazie,  took  her 
impudently  by  the  arm,  laughingly 
wished  her  proficiat  with  her  pretty 
daughter  and,  after  slyly  looking  about 
him  for  confirmation,  said,  half  in 
earnest : 

"  We're  planting  potatoes  to-morrow 
at  the  Rent  Farm,  we  shall  want  lots  of 
hands  ;  missie  may   as  well   come  too/' 

And  with  that  he  went  back  to  his 
game  of  cards. 

This  time,  the  leave-taking  was  genuine. 
Petrus  got  up  ;  and  it  was  good-bye  till 
next  year,  when  Doorke  would  make  his 
first  communion. 

The  cart  was  waiting  outside  the 
door ;  they  stepped  in,  uncle  took  the 
reins. 

1-83 


The  Path  of  Life 

"A  safe  ride  home  !  " 

M  Thanks  for  the  pleasant  visit  !  And 
to  our  next  merry  meeting  !  " 

"  God  speed  !  .  .  .  Good-night !  M 

«  Gee  up  !  " 

The  dogs  sprang  forward,  the  cart 
rumbled  along  and  soon  the  whole  thing 
had  become  a  shapeless  black  patch  among 
the  black  trees.  In  the  still  night  they 
could  just  hear  the  wheels  rattling  over 
the  cobbles ;  and  then  Ivo  and  Frazie 
went  home  again. 

A   breeze    came    playing    through    the 

garden,    sighing    now   and    again    with    a 

sound   as  soft   as  silk  ;    the   moon   shone 

upon  the  dark  trees  and  its  light  played 

like     golden     snow-flakes     dancing     and 

fluttering  down  upon  the  gleaming  crests 

of  the  green   bushes  and   the  milk-white 

plain.     The   air  was    heavy    and    stifling, 

full  of   warm  damp  ;    and  strong-scented 

gusts  of  fresh,  rain-laden  perfumes    blew 

across  the  road. 

184 


Spring 

They  stepped  hurriedly  on  the  legs  of 
their  long  shadows  and  did  not  speak. 
There  came  a  new  rustling  in  the  trees 
and  a  few  big,  cool  drops  of  rain  pat- 
tered on  the  sand,  one  here,  one  there 
and  gradually  quicker. 

Ivo  and  Frazie  hastened  their  pace  ; 
but,  when  the  great  drops  began  to  fall 
on  them  thick  as  hail  and  around  them 
in  the  sand,  till  the  rain  streaked  through 
the  air  and  rattled  tremendously  over 
their  heads,  mother  held  her  body  with 
both  hands  to  prevent  its  shaking,  Ivo 
tied  his  red  handkerchief  over  his  silk 
cap  and  they  started  running. 

"  It  was  main  hot  for  the  time  of  year." 

11  And  the  flowers  smelt  too  strong 
and  the  thrush  sang  so  loud." 

It  went  on  raining :  a  wholesome, 
cleansing  downpour,  a  slow  descent  in 
slanting  lines  that  glittered  in  the  moon- 
light, bringing  health  to  the  earth.  The 
air  was  fragrant  with  the  wet  grass  and 
iS5 


The  Path  of  Life 

the  white  flowers :  it  was  like  a  rich 
garden.  At  home,  everything  was  put 
away,  the  table  cleared  and  wiped  ;  the 
lamp  was  alight  and  all  the  doors  open. 
The  boys  were  in  bed.  Horieneke  had 
read  evening  prayers  to  them  and  then 
hurried  to  her  little  room,  to  be  alone  ; 
and  there  she  had  lain  thinking  of  all 
that  had  happened  during  that  long  day  : 
her  jaws  ached  from  the  constant  smiling  ; 
and  she  felt  dead-tired  and  sad. 

Father  took  off  his  wet  blouse  and 
mother  stirred  up  the  fire  :  they  would 
have  one  more  cup  of  coffee,  with  a 
drop  of  something,  and  then  go  to  bed. 
Ivo  lit  his  pipe  and  stretched  out  his 
legs  to  dry  beside  the  stove. 

They  drank  their  coffee  and  listened 
to  the  steady  breathing  of  the  boys  and 
the  dripping  of  the  gutters  on  the 
cobbles  outside.  Father  made  a  remark 
or  two  about  uncle  and  aunt  and  about 
their  village,  but  got  only  half-answers 
186 


Spring 

from  his  wife.     Then,    all  of  a   sudden, 
he  asked  : 

"  What  did  the  farmer  come  and  say 
to  you?" 

Frazie  sighed  : 

"  They're  planting  potatoes  to-morrow 
and  we  were  to  go  and  work ;  and 
Horieneke  was  to  come  too." 

"Ay." 

"  But  she'll  stay  here  !  " 

u  What  do  you  mean,  stay  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  she's  got  her  work  to  do  at 
home." 

"  All  right  ;    but  if  she  has  to  go  ? " 

"  Don't  care." 

And  mother  stood  with  her  arms 
akimbo,  looking  at  her  husband,  waiting 
for  his  answer. 

"  And  if  he  turns  us  out  and  leaves 
us  without  work  !  " 

"  And  suppose  our  child  comes  home 
with  a  present  .  .  .  from  that  beast  of  a 
farmer  !  " 

1*7 


The  Path  of  Life 

Ivo  knocked  out  his  pipe  : 

"  Pooh,  that  could  happen  to  her 
anywhere  ;  and,  after  all,  she  won't  be 
tied  to  her  mother's  apron-strings  all  her 
life  long  !  .  .  .  When  you  live  in  a 
man's  house  and  eat  his  bread,  you've 
got  to  work  for  it  and  do  his  will  : 
the  master  is  the  master.  Come,  let's 
go  to  bed  ;  we've  a  lot  to  do  to- 
morrow." 

Suppressed  sobs  came  from  the  little 
bedroom.  Mother  looked  in.  Horie- 
neke  lay  with  her  hands  before  her 
eyes,   crying   convulsively. 

81  Well,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

The  child  pressed  her  head  to  the  wall 
and  wept  harder  than  ever. 

"Come  along,  wife,  damn  it  !  It's 
time  that  all  this  foolery  was  over,  or 
she'll  lose  her  senses  altogether." 

Mother  grew  impatient,  bit  her  teeth  : 

11  Oh,  you  blessed  cry-baby  !  " 

And    angrily    she    thumped    the    child 
188 


Spring 

on    the   hip    with   her    clenched    fist    and 
left  her  lying  there. 

"  A     nice      thing,     getting     children  : 
one'd  rather  bring  up  puppies  any  day  ! " 

She  turned  out  the  light  and  it  was 
now  dark  and  still  ;  outside,  the  thin 
rain  dripped  and  the  white  blossoms 
blew  from  the  trees  and  the  whole 
air  smelt  wonderfully  good.  In  the 
distance,  the  nightingale  hidden  in  the 
wood  jugged  and  gurgled  without 
stopping  ;  and  it  was  like  the  pealing  of 
a  church-organ  all  night  long. 
#  #  # 

The  weather  had  broken  up  and  the 
day  dawned  with  a  melancholy  drizzle 
and  a  cold  wind.  The  sky  remained 
grey,  discharging  misty  raindrops  which 
soaked  into  everything  and  hung  trem- 
bling like  strung  pearls  on  the  leaves  of 
the  beech-hedge  and  on  the  grass  and 
on  the  cornstalks  in  the  fields.  It 
was  suddenly  winter  again.  On  the 
189 


The   Path  of  Life 

hilly  field  the  people  stood  black, 
wrapped  up,  with  their  caps  drawn 
over  their  ears  and  their  red  handker- 
chiefs round  their  necks.  The  hoes 
went  up  in  the  air  one  after  the  other 
and  struck  the  moist  earth,  which  opened 
into  straight  furrows  from  one  end  to  the 
other  of  the  field.  Here  wives  walked 
barefoot,  bent,  with  baskets  on  their  arm 
from  which  they  kept  taking  potatoes  and 
laying  them,  at  a  foot's  distance,  in  the 
open  trench.  In  a  corner  of  the  field  stood 
the  farmer,  his  big  body  leaning  on  a  stick  ; 
and  his  dark  eyes  watched  his  labourers. 

There,  in  the  midst  of  them,  was 
Horieneke,  bent  also  like  the  others,  in 
her  coarse  workaday  clothes,  with  a 
basket  of  seed-potatoes  on  her  arm ; 
and  her  red-gold  curls  now  hung,  like 
long  corkscrews,  wet  against  her  face ; 
and  every  now  and  then  she  would 
draw   herself  up,   tossing  her   head  back 

to  keep  them  out  of  her  eyes. 
190 


IN  THE  SQUALL 


VI 

IN  THE   SQUALL 

A  T  noon,  under  the  blazing  sun,  all 
^*  three  started  for  the  wood,  after 
blackberries. 

Trientje  was  in  her  cotton  pinafore, 
with  a  straw  hat  on  her  head  and  a 
wicker  basket  on  her  arm.  Lowietje 
stood  in  his  worn  breeches  and  his  torn 
shirt  ;  in  his  pocket  he  had  a  new 
climbing-cord.  Each  dragged  Poentje  by 
one  hand,  Poentje  who  still  went  about 
in  his  little  shirt  and,  with  his  wide- 
straddling  little  bare  legs,  trotted  on 
between  brother  and  sister. 

They  went  along  narrow,  winding 
foot-paths,    between    the    cornfields,    high 

1 93  n 


The  Path  of  Life 

as  a  man,  through  the  flax-meadows 
and  the  yellow  blinking  mustard-flower. 
The  sun  bit  into  Lowietje's  bare  head 
and  sent  the  sweat  trickling  down  his 
cheeks. 

They  went  always  on,  with  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  that  thick  crowd  of  blue  trees 
full  of  blithe  green  and  of  dark  depths 
behind  the  farthermost  trunks. 

Poentje  became  tired  and  let  himself 
be  dragged  along  by  his  hands.  When 
he  began  to  cry,  they  sat  down  in  the 
ditch  beside  the  corn  to  rest.  Trientje 
opened  her  basket  and  they  ate  up  all 
their  bread-and-butter.  Near  them,  in 
the  grass,  ants  crept  in  and  out  of  a 
little  hole.  Lowietje  poked  with  a 
stick  and  the  whole  nest  came  crawling 
out.  The  children  sat  looking  to  see 
all  those  beasties  swarm  about  and  run 
away  with  their  eggs. 

All  three  stood  up  and  went  past  the 
old  mill,  then  through  the  meadow  and 
194 


In  the  Squall 

so,  at  last,  they  came  to  the  wood  and 
into  the  cool  shade.  On  the  banks  of 
the  deep,  hollowed  path,  it  all  stood 
thick  as  hail  and  black  with  the  bramble- 
berries.  Lowietje  picked,  never  stopped 
picking,  and  put  them  one  by  one  in 
his  mouth ;  and  his  nose  and  cheeks 
were  smeared  with  red,  like  blood. 
Trientje  steadily  picked  her  whole 
basket  full  and  Poentje  sat  playing  on 
the  way-side  grass  with  a  bunch  of  corn- 
flowers. 

In  the  wood,  everything  was  still  :  the 
trees  stood  firmly  in  the  blaze  of  the 
sun  and  the  young  leaves  hung  gleam- 
ing, without  stirring.  A  bird  sat  very 
deep  down  whistling  and  its  song  rang 
out  as  in  a  great  church.  Turtle-doves 
cooed  far  away.  Round  the  children's 
ears  hummed  big  fat  bees,  buzzing 
from  flower  to  flower.  When  the  bank 
was  stripped,  they  went  deeper  into  the 
wood,  Lowietje  going  ahead  to  show 
i95 


The  Path  of  Life 

the  way.  They  crept  through  the  trees 
where  it  twilighted  and  where  the  sun 
played  so  prettily  with  little  golden 
arrows  in  the  leafage  ;  from  there  they 
came  into  the  high  pine- wood.  Look, 
look  !  There  were  other  boys  .  .  .  and 
they  knew  where  birds  lived  ! 

"  Listen,  Trientje,"  said  Lowietje. 
"  You  stay  here  with  Poentje  :  I'll  come 
back  at  once  and  bring  your  pinafore 
full  of  birds'  eggs  .  .   .  and  young  ones." 

He  fetched  out  his  climbing-cord  and, 
in  a  flash,  all  the  boys  were  gone, 
behind  the  trees.  Trientje  heard  them 
shout  and  yell  and,  a  little  later,  she  saw 
her  little  brother  sitting  high  up  on  the 
slippery  trunk  of  a  beech.  She  put 
her  hands  to  her  mouth  and  screamed  : 

«  Lo— wie  !  .  .  .  " 

It  echoed  three  or  four  times  over  the 
low  shoots  and  against  the  tall  trees,  but 
Lowietje  did  not  hear. 

A    man    now  came  striding  down   the 
196 


In  the  Squall 

path  ;  he  carried  a  gun  on  his  shoulder. 
The  boys  had  only  just  seen  him  and,  on 
every  side,  they  came  scrambling  out  of 
the  tree-tops,  slid  down  the  trunks  and 
darted  into  the  underwood.  Breathless, 
bewildered  and  scared  to  death,  Lowietje 
came  to  his  sister  and,  with  his  two  hands, 
held  the  rents  of  his  trousers  together  : 

"  There  were  eight  eggs  there,  Trientje, 
but  the  keeper  came  and,  in  the  sliding, 
my  trousers     ..." 

And  he  let  a  strip  fall.  They  were 
torn  from  end  to  end,  from  top  to 
bottom,  in  each  leg. 

"  Mother  will  be  angry,"  said  Trientje, 
very  earnestly. 

She  took  some  pins  from  her  frock  and 
fastened  the  tears,  so  that  the  skin  did 
not  show. 

Suddenly  fell  a  rumbling  thunder-clap 

that   droned    through    all    the   wood   and 

died    away    in    a   long    chain    of    rough 

sounds.      The    children    looked    at    one 

197 


The  Path  of  Life 

another  and  then  at  the  trees  and  the 
sky.  All  stood  black  now,  the  sun  was 
gone  and  a  warm  wind  came  working 
through  the  boughs,  by  gusts.  It  grew 
dark  as  night  and  at  times  most  terribly 
silent. 

And  now — they  all  crossed  themselves 
— a  ball  of  fire  flew  through  the  sky  and 
it  cracked  and  broke  and  it  tore  all  that 
was  in  the  wood.  The  wind  came  up, 
the  branches  rocked  and  writhed  and  the 
leaves  fluttered  and  tugged  and  heavy 
drops  beat  into  the  sand. 

u  Quick,  quick  !  "  said  Trientje.  "  It's 
going  to  lighten  !  " 

Lowietje  said  nothing  and  Poentje  cried. 
Each  took  the  child  by  one  hand  and 
they  ran  as  fast  as  they  could  to  get 
from  under  the  trees. 

«  Ooh  !     Ooh  !  " 

They  dashed  their  hands  before  their 
eyes  and  stood  still :  a  golden  snake 
twisted  round  a  tree  and  all  the  wood 
198 


In  the  Squall 

was  bright  with  fire  and  there  came  a 
droning  and  a  rumbling  and  a  banging 
as  of  stones  together  and  a  hundred 
thousand  branches  burst  asunder.  Shiver- 
ing, not  daring  to  look  up,  they  crossed 
themselves  again  and  all  three  crept  under 
the  branches,  deep  down  in  a  ditch. 
Trientje  tied  her  pinafore  over  the  little 
one's  face  and  they  sat  there  huddled 
together,  shuddering  and  peeping  through 
their  fingers  and  saying  loud  Our  Fathers. 

"  You  must  not  look,  Lowietje  :  the 
lightning  would  strike  you  blind." 

The  trees  wrung  their  heavy  boughs 
and  everything  squeaked  and  rustled 
terribly.  The  water  rained  and  poured 
from  the  leafy  vault  on  Trientje's  straw 
hat,  on  Lowietje's  bare  head  and  right 
through  his  little  torn  shirt.  And  clap 
and  clap  of  thunder  fell ;  the  sky  opened 
and  belched  fire  like  a  hot  oven.  The 
children  sat  nestling  into  each  other's 
arms — Poentje  down  under  the  other  two 
199 


The  Path  of  Life 

— and  only  when  it  had  kept  still  for  long 
did  they  all,  trembling  and  terrified,  dare 
to  put  out  their  heads. 

"  I  wish  we  were  home  now  !  "  sighed 
Lowietje. 

Once  more  the  sky  was  all  on  fire  and 
rumbling  and  breaking  and  crackling  till 
the  earth  quaked  and  shook. 

**.  O  God,  O  God,  help  us  get  out  of 
the  wood  and  home  to  mother  !  "  whined 
Trientje. 

When  they  opened  their  eyes  again, 
they  saw  below  them,  in  the  bottom,  a  huge 
beech  with  a  bough  struck  off"  and  the 
white  splinters  bare,  with  leaves  awkwardly 
twisted  right  round  :  it  stood  there  like 
a  fellow  with  one  arm  off. 

The  rain  now  fell  steadily  in  straight 
stripes  ;  the  noise  grew  fainter  and  the 
sky  broke  open. 

Soaked     through    with    the    wet,    the 

children   came   creeping  out  of  the  ditch 

and    now,    holding    their    breaths,    stood 
200 


In  the  Squall 

looking  at  that  tree  which  was  so  awe- 
somely cleft  and  at  that  crippled  bough 
which  hung  swinging  over  space.  The 
thunder  still  rumbled,  but  it  was  very 
far  away,  like  heavy  waggons  rattling  over 
hard  stones.  Lowietje  caught  his  little 
brother  up  on  his  back  and  they  made 
straight  for  the  opening  of  the  drove, 
where  they  saw  a  clear  sky.  They  must 
get  out  of  the  wood,  away  from  those 
trees  where  such  fearful  things  happened 
and  where  it  cracked  so  and  where  it  was 
so  dark. 

Outside,  the  heaven  hung  full  of  gold- 
edged  clouds  and  the  sun  drove  its  bright 
darts  through  the  sky.  The  rain  fell  in 
lovely  gleaming  drops  and  all  looked  so  new, 
so  fresh  and  so  strangely  glad  as  after  a  fit 
of  weeping,  when  the  glistening  tears  hang 
in  laughing  eyes.  'Twas  all  so  peaceful 
here  and  'twas  far  behind  them  that  the 
trees  were  twisted  and  bent.  Here  and 
there  flew  birds  ;  and  the  cuckoo  sat  calling 

201 


The  Path  of  Life 

in  a  cornfield.  Lowietje's  shirt  was  glued 
to  his  skin ;  his  trousers  hung  heavily 
from  his  limbs  and  his  hair  fell  in  dripping 
tresses,  sticking  along  his  cheeks.  The 
white  spots  on  Trientje's  pinafore  were 
run  through  with  the  black ;  and  wet 
cornstalks  whipped  her  little  thin  skirt. 
Poentje  splashed  with  his  naked  little  feet 
in  the  puddles  and  asked  for  mother. 

"  We're  almost  home,  child,"  said 
Trientje,  to  soothe  him. 

They  went  through  the  wet  grass  and 
fragrant  cornfields  along  the  slippery  foot- 
paths to  a  big  road. 

Look,  there,  behind  the  turning,  came 
mother  :  she  had  a  sack-cloth  over  her 
head  and  two  umbrellas  under  her  arm  ; 
she  looked  angry  and  ugly. 

"  We  shall  get  a  beating,"  sighed 
Lowietje. 


202 


A   PIPE   OR   NO   PIPE 


VII 
A   PIPE   OR   NO   PIPE 

HE  dropped  his  wheel-barrow,  strode 
from  between  the  shafts  and  went 
and  looked  into  the  great  window  of  the 
tobacco-shop.  His  eyes  were  all  full,  as 
far  as  they  could  carry  :  an  abundance  and 
a  splendour  to  dream  about.  He  came 
a  step  nearer  and  rested  his  two  elbows 
on  the  stone  window-sill,  to  see  more 
comfortably. 

Two  stacks  of  motley  cigar-boxes  stood 
on  either  side  and  ran  together  at  the  top 
into  a  rounded  arch,  from  which  hung  long, 
long  pipes,  cinnamon-wood  pipes,  as  thick 
as  your  arm,  with  green  strings  to  them 
and  huge,  big  bowls,  artfully  carved  into 
205 


The   Path  of  Life 

the  heads  of  the  King,  of  hideous  niggers, 
or  of  pretty  girls  with  beads  for  eyes. 

On  thick,  transparent  glass  slips  lay 
whole  files  of  meerschaum  pipes,  fur- 
nished with  clear  curved-amber  mouth- 
pieces :  fishes'  heads,  lobster-claws  holding 
an  eggshell,  horses'  heads,  cows'  hoofs ; 
rich  cigar-holders  of  meerschaum,  all  over 
silver  stars  and  gold  bands.  Heaps  and 
heaps  and  lots  and  lots  of  every  kind,  as 
far  as  he  could  see  ;  and  all  this  was  mul- 
tiplied in  two  enormous  mirrors,  in  which, 
yonder,  far  back  among  all  this  smoking- 
gear,  he  saw  his  own  face  staring  at  him 
out  of  his  great,  astonished  eyes. 

He  sighed.  It  was  all  so  beautiful,  so 
rich  !  And  now  if  mother  had  only  got 
work ! 

He  went  over  it  once  more.  Down 
below,  in  little  plush-lined  trays,  lay  the 
small  pipes,  the  boys'  stuff.  They  lay 
scattered  higgledy-piggledy,  whole  hand- 
fuls  of  them,  crooked  and  straight,  brown 
206 


A  Pipe  or  no  Pipe 

and  black.  His  eyes  thieved  round 
voluptuously  in  those  trays  and  they  read 
with  eager  curiosity  the  neatly-written 
figures  which  informed  the  world  how 
much  each  pipe  cost. 

Here,  they  were  crooked,  comical  little 
things  of  black  cocus-wood  ;  there,  they 
were  motley,  speckled  round  bowls,  like 
birds'  eggs,  with  white  stems  ;  but  they 
cost  too  much.  And  yet  they  were 
so  charitably  beautiful !  Now  his  eyes 
remained  hankering  after  a  splendid 
varnished  bowl.  It  was  almost  tucked 
out  of  sight,  but  it  glittered  so  tempt- 
ingly and  had  a  lovely  brown  ring  at 
the  edge,  shading  downwards  to  a  pale 
gold-yellow  :  there  was  a  little  cup 
for  the  oil  to  sweat  into  and  a  fat 
cinnamon  stem,  with  a  horn  mouthpiece. 
He  examined  it  on  every  side  and  would 
have  liked  to  turn  it  over  with  his  eyes. 
Inside  the    bowl   stood,  in   black   figures  : 

"  I  fr.  50." 

207 


The  Path  of  Life 

"Mother! 

Thit  was  the  one  he  wanted,  that  was 
his.  She  had  promised  him  a  pipe  if 
she  got  work  to-day.  If  only  she  had 
brought  work  with  her  ! 

After  one  last  look  and  one  more  .  .  . 
he  went  on. 

He  caught  up  his  barrow  and  pushed 
it,  over  the  wide  road,  straight  to  the 
station. 

There  he  had  to  wait. 

He  loitered  round  the  dreary,  deserted 
yard.  The  noon  sun  bit  the  naked  stones  ; 
and  everything,  hiding  and  shrinking 
from  that  glowing  sun-fire,  seemed  dead. 
The  drivers  sat  slumbering  on  the  boxes 
of  their  cabs  ;  the  horses  stood  on  three 
legs,  their  heads  down,  crookedwise 
between  the  shafts,  and  now  and  then 
they  gave  a  short  stamp,  to  keep  off 
the  flies,  which  were  terribly  active.  A 
group    of    loafers    lay    sleeping    on   their 

stomachs  in  the    shade.     A   slow-moving 
208 


A   Pipe  or  no  Pipe 

vehicle  drove  past  and  disappeared  round 
the  corner.  A  dog  came  stepping  up 
lazily  and  went  and  lay  under  the  sun- 
flowers near  the  signal-box,  blinking  his 
eyes. 

There  was  nothing  more  that  moved. 

At  last  the  train  came  gliding  in  very 
gently,  without  noise,  and  it  sent  a  gulp 
or  two  of  white  smoke  into  the  quivering 
blue  sky. 

Now  the  boy  stood  stretching  his  neck 
through  the  railings,  on  the  look-out  for 
his  mother,  whom  he  already  saw  in  his 
thoughts,  coming  bent,  with  a  heavily- 
laden  bag  of  weaving-stufF  ;  and  the  pipe 
was  in  his  pocket  ...  or  else  nothing, 
nothing  at  all  ! 

'Twas  a  fat  gentleman  that  got  out 
first ;  then  a  tall,  thin  one  ;  then  a  woman  ; 
then  another  woman  ;  always  others  ;  and 
now,  now  it  was  mother.  She  stuck  out 
her  thin  leg,  groping  from  the  high 
foot-board  to  find  the  ground,  and  .  .  . 
209  o 


The  Path  of  Life 

she  had  an  empty  blue-and-white  canvas 
bag  on  her  shoulder.  His  lower  lip 
dropped  sadly  and  he  turned  slowly  to 
his  barrow  : 

"  No  work  yet.     God  better  it !  " 

The  mother  threw  her  bag  on  the 
wheel-barrow  and  they  went  on,  without 
speaking. 

Straight  opposite  the  tobacco-shop,  the 
boy  gave  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  great 
window,  with  all  those  rich  things  dis- 
played behind  it,  and  he  whistled  a  little 
tune. 

They  had  still  far,  very  far  to  go, 
before  they  two  were  at  home,  in  their 
village.     And  the  sun  was  burning. 


210 


ON   SUNDAYS 


VIII 
ON   SUNDAYS 

IN  his  Sunday  best !  A  red-and-yellow 
flowered  scarf  was  tied  round  his 
sun-burnt  neck  and  the  two  ends  blew 
over  his  shoulders ;  a  small  brown-felt 
hat  with  a  curly  brim  was  drawn  down 
upon  his  head  and,  from  under  it,  came 
here  and  there  a  wisp  of  flaxen  hair. 
He  wore  a  small,  open  jacket,  with  a  short 
waistcoat,  from  under  which  a  clean  blue 
shirt  bulged  out ;  and  his  long,  much 
too  long  trousers  fell  in  wide  folds  over 
his  big  cossack  shoes.1  Under  his  arm 
he  carried  a  bundle  knotted  into  a  red 
handkerchief,  while  with  the  other  hand 
he  twirled  a  switch. 

1  Hob-nailed  shoes  fastened  with  straps. 
213 


The  Path  of  Life 

He  was  a  growing  youngster,  a  well-set- 
up cowherd,  with  a  brown,  freckled  face, 
small,  pale-grey  eyes,  under  milk-white 
eyebrows,  and  bony  knees  and  elbows  : 
a  sturdy  fellow  in  the  making. 

'Twas  heavenly,  grand  Sunday  weather: 
it  shone  with  light  and  life  and  it  was  all 
green,  pale,  splendid  green,  against  a  clear 
blue  sky  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 

He  stepped  on  bravely,  along  the  wide 
drove  of  elms,  twisting  his  switch,  and 
looked  into  the  free  sky  with  his  young, 
grey-blue  eyes.  He  thought  ...  of 
what  ?  Of  nothing  !  Truly,  of  nothing  : 
what  does  a  cowherd  think  of?  Wait 
a  bit,  though  ;  he  was  thinking  :  'twas 
Sunday !  It  was  Sunday  once  more,  the 
glad  Sunday  !  And  there  were  so  few 
Sundays  in  those  long,  long  weeks.  And 
he  was  going  home  for  a  few  hours  : 
yes,  home ;  and  from  there  to  Stafke's 
and   to   Stafke's   pigeons. 

He  was  hard-worked  at  the  farm : 
214 


On  Sundays 

twenty-nine  cow-beasts,  which  were  always 
hungry  and  always  wanted  fattening ; 
furthermore,  a  whole  herd  of  calves  and 
hogs  :  'twas  a  drudging  without  end  or 
bottom,  from  early  morning  to  late  at 
night,  until  his  limbs  hung  lame. 

The  farmer  was  good  but  strict  and 
could  not  abide  sluggards ;  he  looked 
for  work,  hard  work  ;  and  this  the  lad 
was  glad  to  give,  but  only  while  looking 
forward  to  the  everlasting  Sunday,  in  which 
lay  all  his  happiness  and  cheer. 

He  quickened  his  steps ;  and  the  elms 
pushed  by,  one  by  one,  and  at  last,  ahead, 
very  far  down  that  dark  hedge  of  stems 
and  leafage,  came  a  tiny  opening  where 
the  trees  seemed  to  touch  one  another. 

Look  !     There,  beside  the  little  village 

church,  stood  Farmer  Willems'  homestead, 

with  its  little   slate   turret  and  the  great 

poplars  and,  beside  it,  close  together  and 

quite    hidden    in    the    green,    two    little 

cottages.     'Twas  there  that  he  was  brought 
215 


The  Path  of  Life 

up  and  had  grown  up  ;  there,  in  one  of 
those  cottages.  In  the  other  lived  Stafke's 
father  and  mother.  The  children  had 
led  the  half-wild  life  of  the  country  there  : 
two  little  boys  together.  They  had 
clambered  up  those  mighty  trees,  weltered 
in  the  sand  of  the  drove  and  coursed  like 
foals  in  the  meadow.  The  farm  was  a 
free  domain  to  them  ;  they  were  at  home 
in  it  ;  they  went  daily  to  the  little  door 
of  the  wash-house  to  fetch  their  slice  of 
rye- bread-and-butter  and,  in  the  morning, 
an  apple  or  a  pear.  They  had  lain  and 
rolled  in  the  hay-loft,  like  fish  in  the 
water  ;  but  all  that  had  passed  so  quickly, 
so  very  quickly.  The  parish-priest  came  ; 
and,  for  six  months,  six  long  months,  they 
had  had  to  go  to  school  and  church. 
Then,  on  a  certain  Monday  morning, 
father  said  : 

"  Lad,  you're  coming  along  to  the 
farm  to-day,  to  bind  corn." 

Play  was  over,  the  free  play  of  the 
216 


On  Sundays 

country  !  They  were  pressed  into  labour, 
were  saddled  with  the  labourer's  heavy 
burden.  Since  then,  it  had  been  an 
endless  roving  after  work,  from  one 
farm  to  another,  with  his  bundle  under 
his  arm. 

Stafke  had  remained  serving  at  Willems', 
with  father,  and  he,  on  Sunday  afternoons, 
had  not  so  far  to  go,  under  the  burning 
sun,  in  order  to  get  home. 

The  way  was  long  for  an  unthinking 
lad  ;  and  they  seemed  endless,  those  never- 
changing  rows  of  tree-trunks,  those  un- 
counted yellow,  blinking  cornfields  .  .  . 
and  never  a  creature  on  the  road.  It  was 
something  very  much  out  of  the  way 
when  a  pigeon  flew  through  the  azure 
sky ;  the  lad  stood  still  and,  turning 
round,  followed  the  great  ring  which  it 
made  until  it  dropped  far  away,  yonder 
among  the  houses  of  the  village.  Then 
he  went  on,  pondering,  as  he  went,  that 
there  was  nothing,  absolutely  nothing 
217 


The  Path  of  Life 

lovelier  than  a  milk-white  pigeon  in  a 
pale-blue  sky  ;  and  he  whispered  : 

"  Perhaps  it's  Stafke's  pigeon." 

On  reaching  home,  he  laid  down  his 
bundle  ;  his  baby  sister  came  running  up 
to  him,  with  her  little  arms  wide  open, 
and  held  him  by  his  legs ;  and  he  lifted 
her  twice,  three  times  above  his  head. 
He  handed  mother  his  earnings ;  and 
then,  out  of  the  door,  to  Stafke's  ! 

M  Roz'lie,  is  he  in  ?  " 

w  Oh,  yes,  he's  up  in  the  loft,  with  the 
pigeons." 

He  climbed  up  the  ladder,  in  three  steps 
and  as  carefully  as  he  could,  to  the  dove- 
cote. Behind  a  swarm  of  half-stretched 
and  loose-hanging  clouts  and  canvas 
things,  a  lad  sat  on  an  overturned  tub, 
his  fair-haired  curly  head  in  his  hands, 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  peering  through 
a  sort  of  lattice-work.  Jaak  sat  down  at 
the  other  side,  on  a  bundle  of  maize,  in 
just  the  same  attitude,  and  looked  too.  .  .  . 
218 


On  Sundays 

There  were  white,  snow-white,  mottled, 
blue,  slate-blue,  russet,  speckled,  grey, 
black-flecked,  striped  and  spotted  pigeons, 
doves,  pouters — some  cocks,  the  rest 
hens — a  motley  crowd  all  mixed  up  to- 
gether. There  were  some  that  sat  mur- 
muring one  to  the  other,  softly— oh,  so 
softly — and  nodding  their  heads  for  sheer 
kindliness.  Others  cooed  loudly,  angrily 
or  indifferently  and  tripped  round  one 
another.  Others  sat  huddled,  meditating, 
lonely  and  forlorn,  blinking  their  bright 
little  glittering  eyes. 

Through  the  holes,  from  the  resting- 
board,  new  ones  came  walking  in  with 
shy  feet  and  sought  a  little  place  for 
themselves  ;  others  passed  out  through 
the  narrow  opening  and,  flapping  their 
wings,  rose  into  the  sky.  'Twas  a 
humming  and  muttering  without  end,  a 
murmuring  and  whispering  loud  and  soft 
and  a  restless  stir  and  movement  :  a  little 
world  full  of  neatly-dressed  damsels,  who 
219 


The  Path  of  Life 

were  all  so  lightly,  so  prettily  decked  out 
and  who  knew  how  to  manage  their  trains 
and  their  fine  clothes  so  demurely  and  so 
comically.  They  carefully  combed  and 
cleaned  their  black  velvet  ruffs,  smoothed 
their  sharp-striped  feathers  one  by  one, 
fondled  and  rubbed  their  downy  breasts 
till  they  shone  like  new-blown  roses.   .    .   . 

And  Jaak  and  Stafke  sat  watching  this, 
sat  watching  this,  like  two  steel  statues, 
sweating  in  that  warm  loft.  They  did 
not  stir  nor  speak  a  single  word. 

And  that  lasted  and  went  on.     .     .     . 

It  grew  dusk.  From  every  side  the 
pigeons  came  flying  in,  whole  troops  of 
them,  and  sought  their  well-known  roosts. 
They  stood  two  and  two,  closely  crowded 
together  on  the  perches  or  huddled 
in  the  holes.  They  drew  their  heads 
into  their  feathered  throats  and  slept. 
The  rumour  diminished  to  just  a  soft 
mumbling  ;  and  then  nothing  more.     The 

pigeon  that  sat  over  there,  squatting  low 
220 


On  Sundays 

on  her  eggs,  faded  from  sight  in  her  dark 
corner  ;  and  the  whole  upper  row  vanished 
in  the  dusk  of  the  rafters. 

The  boys  still  sat  on. 

The  dovecote  became  a  pale-grey  twilight 
thing,  with  drab  and  black  patches  here 
and  there.  The  soft  humming  passed  into 
a  faint  buzz  that  died  away  quite  ;  and  all 
was  silence. 

They  both  together  stood  up  straight, 
gave  a  long-drawn  sigh  and  went  below. 

11  It's  getting  dark,"  said  Jaak,  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  face.  M  The  cows  will 
be  waiting." 

"Yes,"  said  Stafke.  <c  It  gets  evening 
all  at  once.     Well,  Jaak,  till  Sunday." 

And  Jaak  went  away,  through  the  now 
moonlit  drove,  with  a  new  bundle  under 
his  arm  and  thinking  of  the  farm,  of  his 
twenty-nine  cow-beasts  and  of  Sunday  and 
of  Stafke's  pigeons. 


221 


II  y  a  des  malheurs  qui  ar riven t 
(Pun  pas  si  lent  et  si  sur  qrfils 
paraissent  faire  partie  de  la  vie 
journaltire. 

MONTALEMBERT. 


AN   ACCIDENT 


IX 

AN   ACCIDENT 

IT  E  had  been  half  awake  several  times 
*  *  already,  but  each  time  he  had  slipped 
back  into  an  uneasy  doze,  a  restless, 
wearisome  sojourn  in  a  strange,  drowsy 
world,  in  which  he  struggled  with 
stupid,  silly  dream-spectres,  all  jumbled 
together  in  a  huddled  mass  of  inco- 
herent, impossible  thoughts  and  actions  ; 
a  blank  world  in  which  all  his  workaday 
doings  were  forgotten  ;  an  after-life 
of  tiring  sleep  following  on  the  carouse 
of  yesterday.  He  lay  half-suffocated  in 
the  stifling  heat  of  that  tiled  garret,  lay 
tossing  on  a  straw  mattress.  And 
suddenly,  with  a  jolt  that  jerked  him 
225  p 


The  Path  of  Life 

upright,  he  was  flung  out  of  all  that 
mystery  into  the  everyday  world,  with 
that  sickly  faintness  about  his  heart,  his 
hollow  brain  and  weary  eyes,  flung  back 
into  the  confused  remembrance  of  all 
that  had  happened  the  day  before  and 
of  the  queer  things  in  his  dreams.  All 
this  now  went  turning  and  spinning  with 
the  glittering  dust  which  came  and  played 
at  his  feet  in  the  blistering  sunbeam 
that  bored  through  the  glass  sky-light. 

His  head — or  no,  it  was  his  brain- 
pan, the  box  in  which  all  his  thoughts 
were  packed — rose  from  his  shoulders 
and  danced  itself  into  sections,  melted 
away,  divided  into  a  hundred  thousand 
little  parts  that  whirled  all  through  the 
garret.  He  was  living  outside  his 
body ;  and  he  now  felt  the  outline 
of  his  own  face  and  found  the 
shape  strange,  as  if  he  had  hold  of 
a  piece  of  furniture.  His  eyes  were 
gone  ;  and  out  of  other,  innumerable 
226 


An  Accident 

little  eyes  he  saw  his  own  little  person 
lying  there  panting  and  heaving  on  his 
mattress  :  a  wretched,  small  thing,  with 
a  wan  face,  a  heap  of  scraggy  Jimbs 
under  a  thin,  grey  skin,  covered  here 
and  there  with  a  strip  of  dirty  shirt. 
He  lay  there  so  absurdly  :  a  stunted 
little  being,  most  awfully  unhappy.  A 
foul  moisture  clogged  his  lips  ;  and  from 
his  whole  body  came  the  reek  of  sour 
beer  and  the  odour  of  stale  sweat  :  he  felt 
sick  at  the  thought  of  his  own  carcass. 

Little  by  little  he  again  became 
the  ordinary  creature  of  every  day,  with 
still  a  retching  sensation  at  the  pit  of 
his  stomach,  with  still  a  heavy  head 
and  shaky  limbs  ;  he  felt  faint  and 
hungry.  And  all  the  wretchedness  of  his 
unhappy  life  came  up  before  him  :  that 
incessant  struggle  for  existence  ;  he 
must  get  up,  go  back  to  his  work, 
start  drudging  for  his  living,  resume 
the  same  dreary  round  of  working  and 
227 


The  Path  of  Life 

sleeping  like  a  beast  of  burden.  And 
now  why  couldn't  he  take  life  as  it 
came,  like  his  mates,  who  just  went 
through  it  anyhow,  without  any  calcu- 
lating, callously  and  cheerfully,  some- 
thing like  a  machine  which,  when  the 
sun  comes  out  and  it  is  daylight,  begins 
to  move  arms  and  legs,  to  twist  and 
turn  the  whole  day  long  and,  when  it 
is  evening  again  and  dark,  falls  down 
and  remains  lying  dead,  for  a  few 
hours,  with  all  the  other  things? 

He  drew  himself  up,  thrust  his  thin 
legs  into  his  trousers,  his  arms  into  a 
dirty  jacket  and  let  his  weary  limbs 
carry  him  below.  His  mother  had 
buttoned  up  the  linen  satchel  with  his 
two  slices  of  bread-and-butter  and  had 
ladled  out  his  porridge.  He  went  out 
followed  by  a  "  God  guard  you,  lad  !  " 
and  the  little  woman  looked  after  her 
boy  till  he  had  vanished  out  of  the 
alley.  She  was  so  fond  of  him,  he 
228 


An  Accident 

knew  it  ;  yes,  he  knew  all  about  that 
tender  love,  which  he  so  often  rejected 
in  a  moment  of  churlish  impatience  ; 
but  still  he  was  sorry  afterwards,  even 
though  he  never  showed  it.  That  prim, 
old-fashioned  little  woman,  with  her 
cramped  ways,  was  his  mother ;  his 
father  had  been  a  drunkard  and  had 
been  killed  at  his  work  :  that  was  his 
parentage ;  it  was  their  fault  that  he 
led  this  poverty-stricken  existence. 

He  walked  on,  without  looking  up 
at  all  the  swarming  life  around  him, 
went  step  by  step  over  the  slippery 
cobbles,  straight  to  his  work.  His 
work  :  why  must  he  work,  always  that 
everlasting  toiling,  while  others  lived 
and  enjoyed  their  lives  without  doing 
anything?  He  too  had  once  thought — 
but  it  was  only  a  dream — of  becoming 
something  ;  he  had  felt  something 
stirring  just  there,  inside  him,  and  that 
seed  would  have  sprouted  and  blossomed 
229 


The  Path  of  Life 

if  they  had  only  tended  it  ;  but  they  had 
ruthlessly  repelled  him,  had  refused  to  take 
him  up  with  them  on  the  heights  ;  and  he 
had  remained  in  the  mud,  alone,  all  alone. 

There  it  rose  before  him  :  a  mighty 
edifice  in  building,  with  behind  it  a 
radiant  summer  sun  that  blazed  forth  high 
above  the  framework  of  the  roof  in  the 
morning  sky  and  made  that  giant  struc- 
ture stand  black  in  its  own  shadow. 

That  was  his  work.  All  that  mass 
of  bricks  he  had  seen  grow  into  the 
mighty  whole  ;  and  there  it  stood  now, 
a  huge  block,  with  heavy,  massive  out- 
lines, contained — held  upright,  it  seemed 
— by  a  jumble  of  dirty-white  stakes  and 
posts,  crossed  and  criss-crossed  with 
planks.  Out  of  a  dirty  hodge-podge  of 
crazy  houses,  walls  black  with  smoke, 
little  inner  rooms  which  for  the  first 
time  saw  the  white  light  of  day,  with 
ragged  strips  of  wall-paper  and  whitewash 
among  rotten  beams  and  rafters  straight 
230 


An  Accident 

and  askew,  all  of  which  his  stubborn 
labour  had  made  to  fall  and  disappear,  and 
out  of  those  deep-dug  foundations,  out  of 
that  drudging  in  the  dirty  ground,  those 
stout  walls  had  grown  stone  by  stone, 
had  risen  high  into  the  sky — oh,  the  hard 
work  of  it ! — and,  tapering  by  degrees, 
had  shot  up  to  form  that  mighty  build- 
ing. Wall  by  wall,  wrought  at  and 
toiled  at,  held  together  by  pillars  run- 
ning beside  narrow  pointed  windows  to 
those  peaked  gable-steps,  running  into  a 
forest  of  masts,  of  slanting  beams  that 
had  to  bear  the  roof,  the  whole  of  that 
sprawling  monster  had  gradually  acquired 
a  sense  and  a  meaning  and  become  the 
splendid  masterpiece  that  now  stood  there, 
solidly  fixed  against  the  blue  sky  like 
a  magic  crystallized  phrase. 

That  beginning  all  over  again,  day  after 

day,    at   the   same   work ;    all    that   busy 

stir  of  men  and  stones,  now  high  in  the 

air,    now    deep    below  ;     that     incessant 

231 


The  Path  of  Life 

climbing  up  and  down  those  swaying 
ladders  :  all  this  had  made  such  a  deep 
impression  on  him,  had  implanted  itself 
into  him  so  firmly  that  at  the  first  sight 
of  it  he  felt  smitten  with  impotence,  with 
a  mechanical  discouragement  that  gripped 
his  whole  being  and  made  him  work 
throughout  the  day  as  though  urged  by 
an  all-ruling  deity  set  there  in  the 
symbolic  shape  of  that  giant  colossus 
at  which  he  toiled.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  an  indispensable  little  part 
of  that  great  building,  a  small  moving 
thing  with  but  a  tiny  atom  of  intelligence 
— sometimes — and  fatally  dragged  along 
in  that  whirling  circle,  under  the  behest 
of  the  masters,  who  knew  their  way 
through  every  stroke  and  line  of  the  great 
plan,  who  had  all  that  great  work  in  their 
heads  and  on  paper  and  who  possessed 
the  power  to  bring  all  that  complicated 
machine  into  operation.  And  he  just 
went  to  work  like  a  dog,  set  going  by  the 
232 


An  Accident 

mournful  knocking  of  the  stone-chopper, 
the  shrill  screech  of  the  toothless  iron 
marble-saw  and  all  the  banging  and 
knocking  and  hewing  up  yonder  at  the 
top  of  things.  He  took  his  wooden  hod, 
filled  it  with  bricks  and  slowly  climbed 
the  ladder.  He  was  once  more  the 
dismal  noodle  of  last  week,  the  hypno- 
tized bag-o'-nerves  that  let  himself  be 
swept  along  in  the  whirlwind  of  habit 
and  vexation,  dazed  by  that  awful  huge- 
ness which  he  was  helping  to  complete 
and  driven  on  by  the  ever-pursuing  pair 
of  eyes  of  his  strict  foreman.  And  his 
head  ached  so  ;  and  he  felt  so  sick  ;  and 
his  legs  bent  under  the  load. 

On  he  had  to  go  and  on.  His  head 
no  longer  took  part  in  the  work  ;  his 
legs  kept  on  going  up  and  down  the 
rungs  with  those  bricks,  those  everlast- 
ing bricks  :  he  did  not  know  how  many, 
just  hauled  them  up,  without  stopping. 

It  seemed  to  him  sometimes  that  the 
233 


The   Path  of  Life 

whole  mass  of  walls  and  scaffolding, 
labourers  and  foremen  made  but  a  single 
being  :  a  sort  of  fearsome  deity,  some- 
thing like  an  unwieldy  monster  with 
inhuman,  cruel  feelings,  something  which 
had  to  be  fed  with  all  that  workmen's 
sweat  ;  and  all  this  feverish  activity 
seemed  to  him  the  whirling  along  of  a 
crowd  of  unfortunates  who  had  stepped 
into  the  fatal  circle  marked  out  for  them, 
never  to  leave  it  again.  Everything 
seemed  so  unsteady  to-day  :  those  walls 
on  which  he  had  to  walk  tottered  ;  and 
he  took  such  a  pleasure  in  looking,  in 
looking  for  a  long  time  down  below, 
yonder  where  the  men  and  women  were  like 
ants  and  the  great  blocks  of  freestone 
became  little  bricks.  It  gave  him  such 
a  delicious  wriggling  in  the  bowels,  a 
tickling  in  his  blood  ;  and  he  felt  his  hair 
tingling  on  his  head.  Was  not  this  the 
way  to  obtain  release  from  that  hard  labour, 
to  get  out  of  that  brain-racking  circle  ? 
234 


An  Accident 

Then  he  held  on  to  a  post  until  he 
recovered  his  senses;  and  he  went  down 
again  for  more  bricks.  It  came  from  all 
that  beer. 

Yesterday  had  been  a  holiday.  The 
wooden  framework  of  the  roof  was 
finished  ;  and  they  had  nailed  the  May- 
bough  to  the  top,  the  joyous  emblem  of 
difficulties  vanquished.  It  showed  up 
grandly  there,  with  its  bright  green 
leaves  so  high  in  the  air.  The  masters 
had  granted  the  men  a  day  off  and 
given  them  plenty  of  beer.  All  that 
warm  day  they  had  made  merry,  drink- 
ing and  singing  and  loafing  about  the 
streets  like  happy  savages.  He  too  had 
revelled  with  the  rest,  had  been  over- 
come by  the  drink  and  joined  in  every- 
thing, from  the  horseplay  in  the  open 
air  to  the  bestial  amusements  in  those 
dark  holes  where  the  populace  seeks  its 
pleasure,  that  stimulant  for  the  work  of  the 
morrow.  Then  that  brutal  drunkenness 
235 


The  Path  of  Life 

had  come,  with  the  loss  of  all  his  senses, 
till  he  found  himself,  dog-tired,  sick  and 
feverish,  up  in  his  garret  under  the  tiles. 

To-day  the  work  was  twice  as  irksome. 
That  rising  warmth  which,  in  the  morn- 
ing, while  it  is  still  cool,  forebodes  the 
stifling,  paralysing  heat  of  the  scorching 
noon-day,  tortured  his  throat  and  his 
bowels  ;  he  couldn't  go  on. 

"  Slacker  !  "  was  the  first  word  flung 
at  his  head.  He  stood  on  the  high 
gable-steps  and  set  down  his  load  of 
bricks.  That  "  Slacker  !  M  played  about 
in  his  head  like  the  smarting  pain  of  a 
lash.  He  stood  looking  aimlessly  into 
space,  indifferent  to  all  that  moved  and 
lived  around  him.  A  shudder  ran 
through  his  body.  The  wall  tottered 
.  .  .  and  he  was  so  high  up,  all  alone, 
seen  by  nobody  :  such  a  small  creature 
in  that  blue  sky,  in  that  endless  space. 
In  a  clear  vision  he  saw  his  own  figure 
in  all  its  lean  wretchedness,  cut  out  like 
236 


An  Accident 

a  paper  silhouette,  standing  out  sharply 
against  the  sky,  such  a  miserable  little 
object  :  two  thin  legs,  like  laths,  a  little 
stomach,  two  little  sticks  of  arms  and 
that  small,  everyday,  vulgar  head.  Was 
that  he,  that  tiny  atom  of  this  mighty, 
colossal  building,  that  ant  on  the  back 
of  this  behemoth  .  .  .  which  had  only  to 
move  to  shake  him  off",  ever  so  low  down  ! 
Ah,  here's  that  delicious  wriggling  in 
the  bowels  again !  He  has  looked 
down.  Once  more.  That's  capital  : 
something  like  a  feeling  of  wanting  to 
jump  down,  such  an  airy,  irresponsible 
joy,  like  flying  in  a  dense,  blue  sky, 
falling  very  gently  and  slowly — oh, 
what  fun  ! — and  then  being  rid  of  all 
one's  troubles  !  .  .  .  And  yet  there  was 
a  certain  fear  about  it.  He  musn't 
look  any  more.  Or  just  this  once  .  .  . 
that  was  grand  !  Once  more  that  awful 
depth,  with  all  those  tiny  figures, 
yawned  below  him  ;  and  it  was  the 
237 


The  Path  of  Life 

little  wall  that  kept  him  up  there  so  high, 
only  that  little  wall.  .  .  .  One  move- 
ment, the  least  little  yielding,  the  least 
bending  over  :  oh,  what  bliss  .  .  .  and 
how  frightful !  .  .  .  He  became  drunk 
with  delight,  filled  with  the  pleasure  of 
it ;  he  gasped,  his  eyes  became  unseeing  ; 
it  was  like  being  wafted  along,  a  gentle 
flight  through  the  air  and  ...  he  fell. 
Bumping  against  a  scaffold,  clutching 
with  hands  and  feet ;  a  breaking  plank, 
a  ghastly  yell  .  .  .  and  then  a  body 
with  arms  and  legs  outspread  in  space, 
a  thunderbolt  ...  a  thud  as  of  a  bag 
of  earth  .  .  .  and  there  he  lay,  stretched 
at  full  length,  like  a  man  asleep.  That 
scream  of  distress,  that  terrible  shriek, 
that  farewell  cry  of  one  who  is  going 
away  for  good  had  sent  something  like 
an  electric  shock  through  all  around  ; 
work  ceased  and  they  scrambled  down 
and  stood  in  a  great  circle  around  that 
body  .  .  .  looking.  And  a  great  silence 
238 


An  Accident 

followed,  that  silence  which  is  so  heavy 
and  oppressive  after  the  sudden  stop 
of  so  much  activity.  People  came 
rushing  up,  pushing  to  get  closer  .  .  . 
and  to  see.  They  tore  the  poor  deviPs 
clothes  open  to  find  out  where  he  was 
hurt,  others  ran  for  help,  while  fresh 
swarms  of  folk  came  crowding  up  and 
the  silence  died  in  an  uproar  of  questions 
and  tramping  and  the  wailing  of 
women.  He  lay  there,  with  his  peace- 
ful face  turned  to  one  side,  lay  on 
his  back,  seemingly  uninjured  ;  a  few 
drops  of  blood  trickled  from  his  mouth. 
His  eyes  were  closed  like  those  of  a 
man  asleep. 

"  Such  a  height  to  fall  !  ...  So 
young,  only  a  boy  !  " 

Others  stood  chattering  loudly,  indif- 
ferently, as  though  about  an  everyday 
occurrence,  or  looked  up  at  the  wall  and 
showed  one  another  from  where  he  had 
tumbled  down. 

239 


The  Path  of  Life 

There  was  a  sudden  movement  in  the 
crowd  ;  people  jostled  one  another. 

"  His  mother's  coming  !  M  somebody 
whispered. 

They  pressed  closer  and  closer  to 
watch  the  effect  upon  her,  the  women 
with  an  anguished  consciousness  of  what 
she  must  be  suffering,  that  mother-pain 
which  they  understood  so  well.  The 
men  pushed  to  see  what  happened, 
because  everybody  was  looking.  All 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  little  woman  who 
came  running  along,  with  those  elderly 
little  hurried  steps,  those  two  anxious  eyes 
which  showed  all  the  dread  of  the 
tragedy  they  suspected.  The  people 
made  way  respectfully,  as  before  one 
who  is  privileged  to  approach  and 
look  upon  what  is  hers.  Those  who 
could  not  move  back  she  dragged  away 
mercilessly,  gripping  them  with  her 
hooked  fingers,  which  she  thrust  out  at 
every  side  in  order  to  see  closer.  It 
240 


An  Accident 

was  her  .  .  .  her  .  .  .  her  son  lying  there, 
her  own  son  ;  and  she  must  get  to  him. 

She  saw  him.  He  lay  there  and  he 
was  dead,  the  son,  the  child  whom 
she  had  seen  leaving  that  morning 
alive  and  well.  She  stood  aghast,  out 
of  breath  after  the  great  effort  of  hurry- 
ing, her  throat  pinched  with  distress 
and  sorrow  and  shock,  her  soul  filled 
with  all  the  pent-up  tempest  that  was 
seeking  an  outlet.  Her  flat  chest  heaved 
and  all  her  thin,  frail  little  body  quivered  ; 
her  legs  shook  beneath  her.  Slowly  and 
painfully  the  sobs  came  welling  up. 

The  people  waited  in  silence,  more 
or  less  disappointed,  saddened  by  all 
that  silent  grief.  Her  eyes,  the  eyes 
of  a  mother,  stared  at  the  dead  body  ; 
and  he  did  not  look  at  her  and  he 
slept  on  and  .  .  .  and  he  was  asleep 
for  ever,  gone  for  ever  :  he  would  never 
see  her  again  !  This  last  cut  into  her 
soul  ;    a    shrill    scream    came    from     her 

241  Q 


The  Path  of  Life 

throat,  she  flung  her  lean  brown  hands 
together  high  above  her  head,  wrung 
the  crooked,  gnarled  fingers  convulsively 
and  then,  with  her  fists  clenched  in  her 
lap,  sank  impotently  to  her  knees,  with 
her  head  against  his. 

"  Oh,  it's  such  a  pity,  oh,  it's  such  a 
pity ! "  she  moaned ;  and  the  words 
contained  all  the  awful  depth  of  her 
woe,  all  the  concentrated  sorrow.  "  Oh, 
it's  such  a  pity,  such  a  pity  !  "  she  kept 
on  repeating,  finding  no  other  words  to 
express  her  grief  and  lending  them 
power   by   force   of  repetition. 

He  remained  lying  there  .  .  .  and 
she  remained  kneeling ;  and  all  that 
crowd  of  people  stood  silently  looking 
on,  startled  and  impressed  by  that  sacred, 
solemn  mourning.  And  the  impressive 
hush,  the  silence  of  all  those  people, 
the  desperate  helplessness  of  those  folk, 
she  alone  suffering  and  crying  and 
unable  to  help  her  child  and  the  people 
242 


An  Accident 

unwilling  to  help  him  :  that  impotence 
pierced  her  soul ;  and  the  patient  suffering 
changed  into  a  frenzied  madness,  a  raging 
fury.  With  a  terrible  scream,  like  that 
of  a  goaded  beast,  a  hoarse  yell  that 
came  grating  out  of  her  parched  throat, 
she  thrust  her  arms,  stiff  with  pain, 
like  two  steel  rods,  under  the  arms  of 
that  limp  corpse  and,  with  a  superhuman 
effort,  with  Herculean  strength  exalted 
by  suffering,  she  lifted  the  corpse,  pressed 
it  to  her  body,  raised  it  with  her  out- 
stretched arms  and  dragged  it,  with  its 
legs  trailing  behind  it,  hurrying  along 
at  a  mad  pace,  with  the  one  idea  of 
getting  home  with  her  child,  her  only 
child,  away,  far  away  from  that  callous 
crowd  which  desecrated  her  sorrow  : 
there  she  would  weep,  sob  out  all  her 
grief  and  find  words,  sweet  words  which 
must  throb  through  her  child  and  wake 
him  and  bring  him  back  to  life  ! 

All  that  packed   crowd  had    first   fol- 
243 


The  Path  of  Life 

lowed  her  with  their  eyes,  struck  by 
the  sudden  outburst  of  that  mad  rage  ; 
and  then  they  had  gone  after  her, 
inquisitively.  And  it  did  not  last  long 
before  the  police-constables — those  phleg- 
matic posts  with  which  any  outbreak 
of  undue  human  emotion  must  always 
in  the  end  collide — stopped  them  ;  they 
pulled  those  bony  arms  from  round  the 
corpse  and  took  the  little  mother,  now 
hanging  slack  and  limp,  one  on  either  side 
by  the  arm  and  led  her  away.  The  body 
was  carried  to  the  mortuary. 

With  a  resounding  oath  the  foreman 
drove  his  folk  back  to  work  and  set  all 
that  rolling  activity  going  once  more. 

The  passers-by  hastened  away ;  and 
the  saw  screeched,  the  chisel  tapped,  the 
hammer  banged,  the  bricks  were  hauled 
up  on  high  and  the  gorgeous  building, 
the  pride  of  a  metropolis,  stood  resplend- 
ent in  the  glaring  white  mid-day  sun, 
as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
244 


WHITE   LIFE 


X 

WHITE   LIFE 

HER  life  flowed  on  as  a  little  brook 
flows  under  grass  on  a  Sunday  noon 
in  summer,  flowed  on  in  calm  seclusion, 
far  from  the  bustle  of  the  crowd, 
secretly,  steadily,  uninterrupted  save  by 
ever-recurring  little  incidents,  peacefully 
approaching  old  age.  She  sat  in  her  little 
white  room,  behind  the  muslin  curtains, 
making  lace.  Her  cottage  stood  a  little 
way  back  from  the  street,  shining  behind 
a  neatly-raked  flower-garden. 

The  door  was  always  shut  and  the  cur- 
tains carefully  drawn.     Inside,  everything 
was   very  clean :   smooth,   bare  walls  and 
the  ceiling  washed  with  milk-white  chalk 
247 


The  Path  of  Life 

through  which  shone  a  soft  touch  of  blue  ; 
and  this  bright  cleanliness  contrasted  soberly 
with  the  things  that  hung  on  the  wall. 
The  chairs  and  furniture  stood  placed  with 
care,  as  though  nailed  to  the  floor  ;  over 
the  mantel  hung  the  copper  Christ,  a  thin, 
elongated  figure  of  Our  Lord,  with  its 
sharp  projections  which  shone  when  the 
sun  touched  them  :  a  little  figure  which, 
so  long  dead,  hung  there  so  firmly  nailed 
and  looked  so  calmly  from  out  of  the  small 
dark  shadow-lines  of  its  face. 

The  stove  stood  freshly  blackened,  with 
the  waved  white  sand  on  its  polished  pipe.1 
Over  the  door  of  the  bedroom  steps  hung 

1  The  Flemish  stove  is  connected  with  the 
chimney  by  a  flat  pipe,  on  which  the  plates  and 
other  utensils  are  heated.  On  Sundays,  the  stove, 
the  pipe  and  all  are  blacked  and  polished  with  black- 
lead  and  turpentine  ;  and  it  is  an  old  custom  of 
neat  house-wives  to  powder  the  stove-pipe  with 
white  sand  from  the  dunes.  The  sand  is  allowed 
to  run  through  a  little  opening  in  the  hand  in  a 
series  of  fine  wavy  lines,  forming  a  delicate  pattern 
on  the  black  pipe. 

248 


White  Life 

the  glass  case  with  the  waxen  image  of 
Our  Lady,  a  girlish  figure  clad  in  broad 
white  folds,  with  bright-red,  cherry  cheeks, 
smiling  sweetly  upon  a  doll  which  she 
carried  in  her  arms.  On  the  other  wall 
was  a  glaring  framed  print,  in  which  a 
Child  Jesus  romped  with  curly-headed 
angels  in  a  motley  green  wood,  with 
behind  it  a  sunny  perspective  gleaming 
with  paradisian  delights. 

From  the  ceiling,  in  a  white  cage,  hung 
the  canary,  which  hopped  from  one  perch 
to  the  other,  all  day  long,  without  ever 
singing.  On  the  window- seat,  behind  the 
little  curtains,  blossomed  tall  geraniums 
and  phlox,  which,  through  the  mesh  of  the 
muslin  curtains,  sent  a  blissful  fragrance 
through  the  room. 

Life  went  its  monotonous  gait,  measured 
by  the  slow  tick  of  the  hanging  clock,  that 
big,  stupid,  laughing  face  which  so  piti- 
lessly turned  its  two  unequal  fingers  round 
and  round.  Outside,  close  by,  went  the 
249 


The  Path  of  Life 

steel  blows  of  the  smith's  hammer  or  the 
biting  file  that  grated  against  her  wall. 

The  sun  that  laughed  so  pleasantly 
through  the  windows  and  came  and  put 
all  those  things  in  a  white  gleaming  light 
beamed  right  through  into  her  little  white 
soul  :  it  was  yet  like  that  of  a  child,  had 
remained  innocent,  never  been  soiled  or 
troubled  ;  and,  now  that  the  bad  storm- 
time  was  over,  it  lay  still  in  the  passionless 
restfulness  of  waning  life,  quite  taken  up 
with  all  manner  of  harmless  occupations, 
devotions  and  acquired  ways  of  an  old, 
god-fearing  woman-person.  Her  face, 
which  was  wreathed  in  a  round  white 
goffered  cap,  had  the  smooth,  yellow, 
waxen  pallor  of  the  statue  of  Our  Lady,  in 
church,  and  her  features  the  severe,  sober 
kindliness  of  nuns'.  She  was  dressed  in 
modest,  stiffly-falling  folds  of  unrumpled 
lilac  silk,  like  the  queens  in  old  prints. 

She  spent  those  long,  quiet  days  at  her 

lace-pillow.     That  was    her    only   amuse- 
250 


White  Life 

ment,  her  treasure  :  this  half-rounded  arch 
of  smooth,  blue  paper  on  the  wooden 
pillow-stool,  occupied  by  a  swarm  of 
copper  pins,  with  coloured-glass  heads,  and 
of  finely-turned  wooden  bobbins,  with 
slender  necks  and  notched  bodies,  hanging 
side  by  side  from  fine  white  threads  or 
heaped  up  behind  a  steel  bodkin.  All 
this  array  of  pins,  holes,  drawers  and  trays 
had  for  her  its  own  form  and  meaning,  a 
small  world  in  which  she  knew  her  way 
so  well.  Her  deft  white  fingers  knew 
how  to  throw,  change,  catch  and  pick  up 
those  bobbins  so  nimbly,  so  swiftly  ; 
she  stuck  her  pins,  which  were  to  give 
the  thread  its  lie  and  form,  so  accu- 
rately and  surely  ;  and,  under  her  hand, 
the  lace  grew  slowly  and  imperceptibly 
into  a  light  thread  network,  grew  with 
the  leaves  and  flowers  of  her  geraniums 
and  phlox  and  the  silent  course  of  time. 

'Twas  quite  a  feast  when,  in  the  even- 
ing, she  wound  off  the  ravelled  end  and 
251 


The  Path  of  Life 

carefully  examined  the  white  web.  She 
closely  followed  all  the  knots,  curves  and 
twists  of  those  transparent  little  veins ; 
and  'twas  with  regret  that  she  rolled  up 
the  lace  again  and  put  it  away  in  the 
drawer. 

When  all  her  peaceful  thoughts  had  been 
fully  pondered,  when  all  that  life  of  every 
day,  all  that  even  round  of  happenings, 
like  little  white  flakes  floating  in  the  sunny 
sky,  had  drifted  by  through  the  thought- 
chambers  of  her  soul  and  when  the  light 
began  to  fail  out  of  doors  and  in,  she  took 
her  rosary  and  prayed,  for  hours  on  end, 
slowly  telling  the  smooth  beads  between  her 
fingers  until,  when  it  grew  quite  dark,  she 
started  awake  and  became  aware  that  for 
some  time  she  had  been  telling  the  strokes 
of  the  smith's  hammer  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall.  Then  she  laid  herself  between 
the  white  sheets  and  tried  to  sleep. 

Two  days  ago  the  grid  of  her  stove 
broke  and  to-day  she  had  taken  it  to  be 
252 


White  Life 

mended  ;  she  had  been  to  the  smith's  and 
now  she  could  not  get  out  of  her  mind 
what  she  had  seen  there  :  a  black  cave, 
like  an  oven,  down  three  steps  ;  a  dark 
hole  hung  and  filled  on  every  side  with 
black  iron  tools;  and,  amid  all  this  jumble, 
an  anvil  and,  in  the  red  glow  from  the 
dancing  light  of  the  smithy  fire,  a  small, 
stunted,  black  little  fellow,  hidden  out  of 
knowledge  in  that  gloom ;  a  bent,  thin 
little  man  wound  in  a  leathern  apron  and 
with  a  black  face,  from  which  a  pair  of 
good-humoured  eyes  peered  out  at  her, 
through  the  shining  glasses  of  his  copper- 
rimmed  spectacles,  like  two  little  lights  in 
the  dark.  She  had  gone  down  those  three 
steps,  looking  round  shyly,  afraid  of  get- 
ting dirty  ;  had  explained  her  business  to 
that  impish  little  chap ;  and  had  then 
hastily  fled  from  that  hell.  Now  it  seemed 
to  her  that  those  two  eyes  had  looked  at 
her  so  kindly  ;  and  she  wondered  how  any 
one  could  live  in  such  a  hole  and  be  a 
253 


The  Path  of  Life 

Christian  creature  .  .  .  and  yet  that  smith 
looked  as  if  he  had  a  good  heart. 

Next  day,  she  was  thinking  again 
of  the  little  man  and  his  dark,  haunted 
hole ;  and  she  sniffed  the  scent  of  her 
geraniums  with  a  new  pleasure  and 
looked  with  more  gladness  at  her  trim 
little  dwelling  and  her  lace-pillow.  She 
now  enjoyed,  realized,  with  all  the 
sensual  luxury  of  her  soul,  that  peaceful 
life  of  hers,  something  like  that  of  the 
yellow,  waxen  Virgin  high  up  there  on 
the  wall,  under  her  glass  shade.  And 
yet  she  was  sorry  for  her  good  neigh- 
bour :  it  must  be  so  dreary  alone,  amid 
all  that  dirt.  .  .  .  She  worked  at  her 
lace,  prayed  and  tried  to  think  of 
nothing  more. 

He  brought  the  new  grid  home  him- 
self. At  first,  she  was  shy  with  the 
man  :  she  got  up,  went  to  the  stove, 
turned  back  again  and  only  now  and  then 
dared  look  at  the  smith  from  under  her 
254 


White   Life 

eyes.  He  was  wrapped  up  in  his  work, 
stood  bending  over  the  stove,  trying  to 
fix  the  grid.  Seen  like  that  in  the 
light,  the  little  chap  looked  quite 
different  to  her  eyes  :  he  was  no  longer 
young,  his  breath  came  quickly  ;  but  in 
all  that  he  did  there  was  something  so 
friendly,  so  kindly,  something  almost 
well-mannered,  that  went  oddly  with  his 
dirty  clothes  and  his  black  face.  The 
little  smith  was  known  in  the  village 
as  a  lively  person,  who  led  a  lonely  life, 
but  who  was  able  also  to  divert  a 
company :  he  knew  his  customers  and 
knew  how  to  manage  them  all.  Here 
he  took  good  care  not  to  dirty  the 
floor  :  he  spat  his  tobacco-juice  into  the 
coal-box  and  touched  nothing  with  his 
hands.  When  at  last  the  grid  was 
fixed,  he  stayed  talking  a  little  :  he 
spoke  of  her  nice  little  life  among  all 
those  white  things  ;  paid  her  a  compli- 
ment on  her  pretty  flowers  and  shining 
255 


The  Path  of  Life 

copper  ;  and  then  came  close  to  look 
at  her  lace-pillow.  Lastly,  seeing  that 
she  was  not  at  her  ease,  that  she 
answered  his  remarks  so  shortly  and 
hesitatingly,  he  gave  a  push  to  his  cap, 
refused  to  say  what  she  owed  him  and 
was  gone  with  a  skip  and  a  jump. 

One  Sunday,  after  vespers,  he  came 
again,  bowed  politely,  fetched  a  bit 
of  paper  out  of  his  waistcoat-pocket 
and  sat  down  on  a  chair  by  the  stove. 
This  visit  annoyed  her  :  with  the  quick- 
ness with  which  small-minded  people 
weigh  and  think  over  a  matter,  her  eyes 
went  to  the  window  to  see  if  anybody 
had  observed  him  come  in  and  was 
likely  to  set  evil  tongues  a-clacking. 
It  was  almost  bound  to  be  so  ;  and,  to 
keep  her  honour  safe,  she  opened  her 
door,  mumbling  something  about  "warm 
weather "  and  "  the  tobacco-smoke 
which  made  her  cough." 

She  went  to  her  room,  fetched  some 
256 


White  Life 

money  and  paid  the  bill.  The  smith 
sat  where  he  was,  knocked  out  his  little 
stone  pipe  and  put  it  in  his  inside 
pocket ;  he  did  not  look  at  his  money 
and,  in  his  hoarse  little  voice,  began  to 
talk  of  quite  common  things  :  of  wind 
and  weather  and  the  current  news  of 
the  village  ;  always  chatting  in  the 
same  tone,  a  jumble  of  long,  breathless 
statements.  From  this  he  went  on  to 
his  dreary,  lonely  life,  the  monotonous 
quiet  of  it  and  the  danger  of  thieves,  sick- 
ness and  sudden  death.  She  said  not  a 
word,  but,  against  the  bright  window- 
curtains,  the  sharp,  heavy  profile  of  her 
face,  together  with  the  flutes  of  her 
white  cap,  went  up  and  down  in  a 
continual  nodding  assent  to  everything 
he  said.  At  the  end,  she  took  pleasure 
in  hearing  him  talk,  nor  now  looked 
upon  that  clean-washed  face  of  his  as 
at  all  so  ugly.  It  even  did  her  good 
to  see  some  one  sitting  there  who  came 
257  R 


The  Path  of  Life 

to  enliven  the  monotony  of  that  long 
Sunday  evening.  By  her  leave,  he  had 
lighted  a  fresh  pipe  ;  and  she  now  sat 
sniffing  up  that  unaccustomed  smell, 
which  rose  in  little  puffs  from  behind 
the  stove  and  floated  round  the  room, 
filling  it  with  long  rows  of  blue  curls. 
'Twas  as  if  she  were  overcome  by  that 
quite  new  smell  of  tobacco  and  she  felt 
inclined  to  sleep  ;  she  stood  up,  to  get 
rid  of  that  slackness,  shut  the  front- 
door and,  without  thinking  what  she 
was  doing,  asked  if  he  would  have 
some  coffee.     He  nodded,  gladly. 

She  put  the  kettle  on  and  got  the 
coffee-pot  ready,  fetched  out  her  best 
cups  and  spoons  and  the  white  sugar. 
When  the  steam  came  rushing  from 
the  spout,  she  poured  water  on  the 
coffee  and  they  sat  down,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  table,  to  sip  the  savoury 
drink  in  tiny  draughts.  'Twas  long 
since  she  had  felt  so  comfortable  and 
258 


White  Life 

for  the  first  time  she  thought  with 
dislike  of  her  lonely  life.  'Twas  late 
when  he  went  home ;  she  came  with 
him  to  the  door  .  .  .  and  saw  black 
figures  that  strolled  past  in  the  street 
and  perhaps  had  seen  him  leave.  She 
had  bad  dreams  all  night  :  the  people 
pointed  their  fingers  at  her  and  slan- 
derous tongues  spread  ugly  things 
about  her.  The  whole  of  the  next  day 
her  thoughts  were  in  the  smithy  ;  she 
swept  the  pavement  more  carefully  and 
farther  than  usual,  went  now  and  then 
and  looked  out  of  window  ;  and  her  little 
curtains  were  left  open  with  a  split  in 
the  middle.  Yesterday,  she  had  for- 
gotten to  give  the  canary  fresh  water  to 
drink.  The  people  looked  at  her  in 
the  street ;  two  or  three  god-fearing 
gossips  had  let  her  walk  home  alone. 
This  gave  her  great  pain  ;  'twas  as 
though  a  heavy  load  were  weighing 
day  and  night  on  her  breast ;  and  yet 
259 


The  Path  of  Life 

she  was  not  sorry  for  what  had  hap- 
pened. All  these  trifles  could  not  make 
her  forget  her  content.  She  said  her 
prayers  and  performed  her  little  duties 
with  as  much  care  as  before  and  lived 
on,  alone. 

On  Sunday,  she  went  to  church  very 
early  and  prayed  long :  it  did  her  so 
much  good,  that  delightful  whispering 
with  God,  that  sweet  kind  Lord  Who 
listened  to  her  so  patiently  and  always 
sent  her  away  with  fresh  courage, 
strengthened  to  walk  on  bravely  along 
life's  irksome  way.  Sometimes  she  was 
frightened  at  her  behaviour  !  She  was 
gnawed  by  a  reproachful  thought  :  that 
she  had  left  the  straight  path,  that  she 
no  longer  lived  for  God  alone,  that  she 
was  forgetting  her  dear  saints  and  busy 
with  sinful  thoughts.  And  yet,  when 
she  carefully  considered  everything, 
nothing  had  happened  that  seemed  to 
her  blameworthy  ;  all  that  change  in 
260 


White  Life 

her  life  had  come  as  of  itself  and  in 
spite  of  herself;  and  really,  after  all, 
there  was  no  harm  in  it.  She  prayed 
for  that  good  man,  who  certainly  needed 
her  spiritual  aid  :  he  went  so  seldom  to 
church  and  lived  in  such  a  dreary 
black  hole.  Her  prayers  and  interest 
would  for  sure  bring  him  to  a  better 
frame  of  mind.  And  yet  she  must 
watch,  keep  strong,  avoid  the  dangers  : 
her  honour  was  a  tender  thing  ;  and 
people  were  wicked.  She  stayed  longer 
than  usual  in  the  confessional  and 
offered  special  prayers  to  every  saint 
in  the  church. 

When  she  was  back  at  home,  she 
began  her  little  Sunday  duties  :  the  lace- 
pillow  was  put  away  that  day  and  she 
did  nothing  but  arrange  things,  put  things 
in  their  places,  gather  a  fresh  nosegay 
for  the  porcelain  vase  before  Our  Lady's 
statue  and  see  to  her  cooking.  She 
picked  the  withered  leaves  from  the 
261 


The  Path  of  Life 

geraniums,  bound  the  branches  of  the 
phlox  to  the  trellis  and  gave  them  fresh 
water  from  a  little  flowered  can.  She 
was  specially  fond  of  her  little  pot  of 
musk  :  it  stood  on  the  window-seat, 
opposite  her  chair,  carefully  set  in  a  rush 
cage  stuck  into  the  earth  and  fastened 
at  the  top  with  a  thread.  Sometimes 
she  took  it  on  her  lap,  bent  her  face 
over  it  and  sniffed  the  pleasant  smell 
in  long  draughts,  until  she  was  almost 
drunk  with  it. 

In  the  afternoon,  she  sat  down  at  the 
window  and  read  her  Thomas  a  Kempis. 
Then  all  was  quite  still  :  no  hammering 
behind  the  wall,  no  boys  in  the  street, 
only  the  soft  tapping  of  the  canary  in 
his  food-trough  and  the  tick  of  the 
pendulum ;  everything  was  quiet  as 
though  in  an  enchanted  sleep.  The 
sun  glowed  through  the  geranium - 
leaves  and  cast  on  the  red-tiled  floor  a 
broad,  round  shadow  which  took  the 
262 


White  Life 

whole    afternoon  to  creep  from    the  legs 
of  the  stove  to  the  front-door. 

The  flies  buzzed  round  on  the  rafters 
of  the  ceiling  or  ran  along  the  cracks  of 
the  white-scoured  table.  Her  thoughts 
wandered  wearily  and  lazily  through  the 
wise  maxims  of  her  book  and  she  some- 
times sat  peering  at  the  funny  shape  of 
a  coloured  initial  which,  after  long  looking, 
became  such  a  silly  figure,  one  that  no 
longer  looked  in  the  least  like  a  letter, 
but  was  rather  something  in  the  form 
of  a  vice.  .  .  .  The  lines  of  print  ran 
into  one  another,  the  maxims  said  all 
sorts  of  foolish  things,  her  eyes  closed, 
her  head  nodded  and  she  sank,  with  all 
those  peaceful  things,  into  perfect  rest. 

After  dinner,  the  smith  had  had  a  sleep  ; 
then  he  washed  his  face,  put  on  his  best 
clothes  and  went  past  her  window  to  ves- 
pers. In  the  evening,  she  saw  him  again 
when  he  went  to  the  customers  for  a  pot  of 
beer :  this  time  he  gave  her  a  friendly  nod. 
263 


The  Path  of  Life 

For  her,  Sunday  passed  like  all  the 
other  days  ;  she  prayed  longer  and  closed 
her  shutter  earlier  for  fear  of  the 
drunkards.  After  saying  a  long  row  of 
graces  which  she  knew  by  heart,  she 
went  to  her  bedroom.  In  the  stuffy  air 
of  that  closed  upper  chamber,  she  lay 
thinking.  She  was  not  sleepy  and  it  was 
nice,  in  the  evening  stillness,  covered  in 
her  white  sheets,  to  lie  with  her  eyes  look- 
ing through  the  split  in  the  white  curtains 
at  the  moon  which  hung  shining  outside. 

Now  she  gave  free  scope  to  her  thoughts, 
until  all  of  that  had  again  been  pondered 
round  and  pondered  out.  Then  it  became 
so  funny  to  her:  'twas  as  if  she  were 
long  dead  now  and  floating  in  a  pale 
and  scented  air  in  the  company  of  sweet 
saints  and  angels.  But  it  was  oh,  so  hazy 
and  indistinct !  It  always  escaped  her 
when  she  wanted  to  enjoy  it  more  closely 
and  to  give  the  thing  a  name. 

It  was  night  when  the  smith  came 
264 


White  Life 

home,  a  little  tipsy,  deceived  by  his 
great  thirst  and  the  double  effect  of  the 
beer  in  that  warm  weather.  He  was  very 
cheery,  without  really  knowing  why  ; 
something  like  a  soft  buzzing  fire  ran 
through  all  his  body  and  made  him 
tingle  with  happiness.  They  had  chaffed 
him  that  evening  about  the  old  maid 
next  door  and  he  now  felt  inclined  just 
to  tell  her  about  it. 

Wasn't  it  a  shame  for  two  people  to 
lie  here  so  quietly  and  drearily,  parted  by 
a  bit  of  a  wall,  when  they  could  have 
been  amusing  each  other  ?  .  .  .  His  white 
neighbour  was  sure  to  be  asleep  by  now 
.  .  .  and,  if  he  only  dared  .  .  .  and, 
quicker  indeed  than  he  intended,  he  gave 
three  little  taps  on  the  wall  and  lay 
listening,  all  agog.  .  .  .  Three  like  little 
taps  answered  !  This  was  so  unexpected 
that  at  first  he  sat  wondering  whether  he 
could  believe  his  ears  ;  then  he  began  to 
swim  and  sprawl  in  his  bed,  bit  his  teeth 
265 


The  Path  of  Life 

so  as  not  to  shout  out  his  overflowing 
delight  and  started  banging  on  the  wall, 
this  time  with  his  fists.  It  was  too  late 
to-night :  to-morrow,  he  would  go  to  her 
and  ask  her  .  .  .  and  then  they  would 
both  .  .  .  and  he  would  no  longer  be 
alone,  always  alone,  and  would  have  some 
one  to  care  for  him,  to  look  after  him. 
...  In  all  this  happiness  he  drowsed  off 
gently,  rocked  in  another  world,  like  a 
little  wax  doll  in  a  pale-blue  paper  box. 

She  had  started  out  of  her  sleep  at  those 
three  taps  and  had  answered,  not  knowing 
why ;  then  she  had  got  frightened  at 
that  wild  man  behind  her  wall,  had 
jumped  out  of  bed  and  struck  a  light 
and  sat  waiting  until  the  noise  stopped  ; 
then  she  commended  her  soul  into  the 
Lord's  hands  and  fell  softly  asleep. 

The  first  time  that  he  went  to  see  her,  he 
found  the  door  shut.  Once,  when  he  met 
her  in  the  street,  she  kept  her  eyes  care- 
fully cast  down  and  passed  him  without  a 
266 


White  Life 

sign  of  greeting.  Her  curtains  remained 
drawn  and  she  never  came  to  the  door 
now.  He  went  home  and  sat  musing 
on  his  anvil.  All  his  plan  was  blown  to 
bits  ;  he  found  himself  sadly  duped  and 
turned  red  with  anger  when  folk  spoke  of 
his  dear  neighbour.  He  hammered  and 
filed  from  morning  till  night ;  and  she 
must  now  be  making  her  lace. 

Time  pushed  past,  divided  into  even 
days,  along  a  smooth  road  that  led  down 
the  mountain-slope  of  summer.  The  leaves 
fell  from  the  geraniums  and  the  phlox. 
The  neatly-cut-out  paper  fly-catcher  was 
put  away  and  the  lamp  hung  up  in  its 
place.  With  the  sad,  short  days  came  the 
grey,  misty  sky,  the  dismal,  dripping  rain 
and  the  white  snow.  The  village  lay  dead 
for  half  the  day,  dark,  with  here  and 
there  a  little  ray  of  light  gleaming  through 
the  shutters. 

And  it  became  gradually  drearier  for 
her  :  that  calm  rest,  in  which  she  had 
267 


The  Path  of  Life 

once  found  such  a  pure  delight,  was  now 
a  heavy  weariness.  She  longed  for  change, 
for  something  different  which  she  could 
not  justly  define,  or  else  to  live  again 
as  before,  alone  and  with  nothing  but 
herself.  She  had  struggled  and  fought 
to  rid  herself  of  that  obsession,  but  it 
followed  her  everywhere  :  she  saw  him 
go  by,  even  when  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  lace-pillow,  the  stove,  or  the  chair 
on  which  he  had  sat  ;  and  there  was  that 
constant  hammering  and  scratching  behind 
her  wall  :  everywhere  she  saw  those  two 
kind  eyes  behind  the  copper  rims  of  his 
spectacles  ;  and  she  sometimes  caught  her- 
self contentedly  tracing  the  good-natured 
features  of  his  little  black  face.  She  had 
prayed  more  than  ever  and  evoked  quite 
new  saints  ;  and  now  she  let  herself  drift 
along  at  God's  pleasure,  no  longer  even 
thinking  of  her  weakness.  Perhaps  she 
was  the  instrument  of  a  Blessed  Providence, 

destined  blindly  to  do  good. 
268 


White  Life 

The  little  curtains  had  long  been  pushed 
apart  again  ;  and,  each  time  that  she  heard 
approaching  footsteps,  her  heart  went 
beating  and  her  eyes  looked  eagerly  to 
see  if  by  chance  ...  it  was  not  he. 

Sometimes,  an  anxious  fluttering  drove 
her  to  the  front-door,  where  she  stood 
looking  round  for  a  while  and  then, 
ashamed  of  herself,  went  indoors  again. 
Quite  against  her  habit,  she  now  made 
use  of  her  glass  :  in  the  middle  of  her 
work,  she  went  to  see  if  the  two  glossy 
black  tresses  lay  neatly  on  her  forehead 
and  if  the  ribbons  of  her  cap  were  properly 
tied  and  fastened.  She  put  on  her 
clothes  more  carefully  and  folded  and 
refolded  her  kerchief  till  it  enclosed  her 
body  in  a  pretty  shape.  From  before  the 
moment  of  starting  for  church,  her  heart 
began  to  beat ;  she  shut  her  garden-gate 
more  noisily  and  stepped  loudly  along 
the  pavement  until  she  came  to  the  smith's 
first  window,  firmly  resolved  this  time 
269 


The  Path  of  Life 

at  least  to  look  up  and  say  good- morning ; 
but  she  always  met  some  one  who  noticed 
her  ;  and  she  was  in  church  by  the 
time  that,  with  a  sigh,  she  had  put  off 
her  intention  until  next  day. 

At  night,  in  bed,  she  lay  thinking  over 
all  these  little  events  ;  and  it  was  a  glad  day 
or  a  sad  day  for  her  according  as  she  had 
more  or  less  often  caught  sight  of  the  little 
smith. 

One  evening,  after  benediction,  she  saw 
him  come  walking  under  the  trees  of  the 
churchyard.  Not  a  soul  saw  them.  Now 
she  really  must  have  courage  ;  but  again 
the  blood  came  to  her  throat  and  she  felt 
that  once  again  it  would  lead  to  nothing. 
He  had  just  looked  round  before  she  came 
up  to  him  and  then  he  sat  down  on  the 
stone  step  before  the  Calvary,  as  though 
he  wanted  to  chat  with  her  there  at  his 
ease  : 

"  Good-evening,  Sofie,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile.  "  Have  you  been  to  say  your 
270 


White  Life 

prayers.  Don't  you  ever  say  a  little  one 
for  me  ?  I  want  it  so  badly  :  my  soul's  as 
black  as  my  apron  and  I  can't  even  read  a 
prayer-book.  .   .  ." 

He  made  all  this  speech  in  a  soft, 
fondling  little  tone  and  then  sat  smirking 
to  see  what  she  would  say.  There  was 
nothing  that  she  longed  for  more  than  to 
save  his  soul  : 

"  Can  you  say  the  Rosary  ? "  she  asked. 

u  Yes,  but  I  haven't  one." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  give  you 
. 

"  Oh,  rather  .   .  .  if  you'll  be  so  good  !  " 

She  bent  close  to  him  and  whispered  in 
his  ear  : 

"  Come  and  fetch  it,  to-morrow  evening, 
when  it's  dark." 

They  walked  together  through  the  peace- 
ful twilit  churchyard  and,  with  a  cordial 
"  Good-evening,"  went  home  well  pleased 
with  themselves. 

For  her  it  was  an  endless  day  ;  all  the 
271 


The  Path  of  Life 

time  she  stood  considering  what  she  should 
say  to  him.  He  was  coming  and  would  sit 
smoking  there  again  behind  the  stove. 
Already  she  heard  his  pleasant,  whispering 
talk  and  saw  his  kind,  upturned  glance.  She 
moved  about  restlessly  to  set  everything  in 
order.  The  shutters  were  closed  quite  early 
and  the  lamp  burning.  Now  she  went  and 
had  one  more  look  outside  and  it  was  pitch- 
dark,  with  never  a  moon.  On  the  stroke 
of  eight,  the  door  opened  :  he  was  there, 
with  his  Sunday  jacket  on,  his  red  scarf 
and  his  leather  shoes.  She  was  most 
friendly,  but  did  not  at  first  know  how  to 
begin  the  conversation. 

He  lit  his  pipe  and  snuffled  some  news 
of  the  village  and  of  people  who  were 
married,  sick  or  dead.  She  made  coffee, 
turned  up  the  lamp  and  opened  her  bed- 
room door  to  give  an  outlet  to  the  tobacco- 
smoke.  Straight  opposite  him,  deep  in  the 
half-darkness,  he  saw  all  that  show  of  white  : 
against  the  wall  stood  the  bed,  under  a 
272 


White  Life 

white  canopy  of  curtains  hanging  in  folds, 
set  off  with  a  white  ball-fringe ;  also  a 
praying-desk  with  velvet  cushions,  above 
which  was  an  image  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
with  gold  flowers,  and,  hanging  from  a 
brass  chain,  a  perpetual  light  glimmering 
in  a  little  red  glass  ;  and,  all  around,  on 
the  white  walls,  little  statues  and  pictures, 
like  a  devout  little  tabernacle  ashine  with 
cleanliness.  They  drank  their  fragrant 
cup  of  coffee  and  nibbled  lumps  of  white 
sugar. 

"  And  my  rosary  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  fetched  it  out  of  the  drawer  of  her 
lace  pillow  and  came  and  sat  close  to  him 
to  teach  him  how  to  say  it  : 

"  Here,  at  the  little  cross,  the  I  Believe 
in  God  the  Father  ;  then,  at  each  big  bead, 
an  Our  Father  ;  and,  at  the  little  ones,  a 
Hail  Mary." 

He  sat  with  his  legs  drawn  under  his 
chair,  with  one  hand  at  his  chin,  listening 
good-humouredly  and,  with  a  smile, 
273  s 


The  Path  of  Life 

repeating  all  she  taught  him.  Her  eyes 
shone  with  happiness.  Now  the  talk 
went  easily  on  church  matters  and  all 
the  things  of  her  pious  little  life  ;  she 
showed  him  the  pictures  in  her  prayer- 
book,  explained  all  the  attributes  of  the 
saints  and  told  long  stories  of  their  lives 
and  martyrdoms. 

He,  also,  told  her  of  his  youth,  when  he 
made  his  first  communion  and  was  the 
best  little  man  in  the  whole  village.  It 
was  striking  ten  when  he  went  home ; 
and  he  had  promised  to  come  and  listen 
to  her  again. 

Every  evening,  when  it  grew  dark,  he 
sat  peeping  to  see  if  there  was  no  one  in 
the  street  and  then  cautiously  crept  in 
through  her  gate.  He  brought  her  old 
books  from  his  loft  ;  and,  while  he  smoked 
his  pipe,  she  lit  the  candle  before  the  statue 
of  Our  Lady  and  started  talking,  very 
gently,  so  as  not  to  be  heard  outside.  She 
read  whole  chapters  out  of  Thomas  a 
274 


White  Life 

Kempis  and  The  Pious  Pilgrim,  The  Dove 
amongst  the  Rocks,  The  Spiritual  Bridegroom, 
or  The  Sacred  Meditations.  They  sat  there 
for  hours  at  a  time  gazing  at  each  other 
and  smiling.  When  it  grew  late,  she  went 
and  looked  outside  and,  when  the  moment 
was  favourable,  she  carefully  let  him  out. 
She  thanked  Our  Lord  for  making  her  so 
happy  and  often  prayed  that  it  might 
last  and  she  win  the  smith's  soul  for 
Heaven  and  that  their  doing  might  all  the 
same  be  kept  hidden  from  wicked  people. 
St.  Eloi's  Day  is  the  holiday  of  smiths 
and  husbandmen.  In  the  morning,  the 
farmers  all  went  together  to  mass  and 
thence,  after  a  glass,  to  settle  their  yearly 
reckoning  at  the  smith's.  At  noon  there 
was  a  big  dinner  at  the  inn.  They  ate 
much  and  drank  more  ;  and,  from  after- 
noon till  late  in  the  evening,  the  smiths' 
men  and  the  peasants  loafed  along  the 
streets    and    sang     ribald     songs.       The 

steadiest  of  them    walked    about    talking, 
275 


The  Path  of  Life 

from  one  tavern  to  the  other.  They  were 
nearly  all  drunk.  She  sat  peeping  at  it 
from  behind  her  curtain  and  was  vexed 
at  all  this  wantonness  and  rather  glad  that 
she  had  not  yet  seen  "  him M  anywhere. 
She  said  her  evening  prayers  and  was  just 
going  to  bed  when  she  heard  the  door  open 
and  the  smith  stepped  in. 

He  carried  his  pipe  upside  down  in  his 
mouth,  his  eyes  looked  wild  and  his  speech 
was  incoherent.  She  had  never  seen  him 
like  that  ;  and  she  was  frightened  at  his 
strange  gestures.  She  wanted  him  to  sit 
down,  but  he  came  up  to  her  with  his  arms 
open,  as  if  to  catch  hold  of  her.  She 
stepped  back  in  affright,  pushed  him  away 
from  her.  His  breath  stank  of  drink  and 
his  thin  legs  tottered  under  him.  She 
began  to  beseech  him,  that  it  was  late  and 
that  he  should  go  home  and  that  people 
would  know.  .  .  .  But  his  eyes  looked  at 
her  roguishly  and,  with  bent  head  and 
outstretched  arms,  he  kept  on  trying  to 
276 


White  Life 

come  closer.  Filled  with  dread,  she 
wavered  away  behind  the  tables  and  chairs, 
whimpering  : 

u  If  you  please,  if  you  please,  Sander,  go 
home  ;  you  frighten  me  !  " 

Suddenly,  he  nipped  out  the  flame  of 
the  lamp  with  his  fingers.  It  was 
quite  dark. 

"  Sander  !  Sander !  What  do  you 
want  ?  Heavens  !  He's  drunk  !  And  I'm 
here  all  alone  !  Lord  God,  St.  Catherine, 
help  !  " 

He  still  spoke  not  a  word,  but 
uttered  ugly  growls  ;  and  she  heard 
his  hands  rub  and  grope  along  the  wall, 
against  herself.  She  pulled  open  the 
door  of  her  bedroom  and  fled  up  the 
stairs  and  fell  in  a  heap  in  the  corner 
beside  her  bed.  There  she  sat  waiting, 
out  of  breath.  .  .  .  Yes,  his  heavy  shoes 
had  found  the  steps  ;  and,  still  growling, 
he  entered  the  room.  He  felt  the  bed, 
lay  down  flat  on  his  stomach  and  reached 
277 


The  Path  of  Life 

out  with  his  arms  ;  then  he  found 
her  sitting  sighing.  She  felt  those  two 
weedy  arms  grasp  her  and  was  caught 
in  them  as  in  an  iron  band.  She 
moaned  and  screamed  for  help.  His 
dirty,  slimy  mouth  pressed  her  lips  .  .  . 
and  then  she  felt  herself  sink  away,  out 
of  the  world.  The  people  who  heard 
the  cries  came  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  They  hauled  the  drunkard  out- 
side and  laid  her  on  the  bed.  When 
they  saw  that  she  was  better,  they  went 
away  again. 

She  lay  stretched  out  slackly  in  the 
dark.  First,  still  quite  overcome,  as 
though  drunk  with  sleep,  she  slowly, 
through  that  dim  whirl  of  stormy  thoughts, 
came  to  understand  what  had  happened  : 
all  her  misfortune,  which  yawned  before 
her  like  a  deep,  black  well.  She  was 
ashamed,  disgusted  with  herself  and 
felt  a  great  aversion,  a  loathing  for 
all  the  world  :  people  were  a  pack  of 
278 


*  White  Life 

lustful  pigs.  .  .  .  And  he  too :  that 
was  over  now,  suddenly  over,  for  good 
and  all.  .  .  .  And  he  .  .  .  no,  he  had 
deceived  her,  grievously  denied  her. 
And  now  to  have  to  go  on  living  like 
that !  It  was  done  past  recall  :  she 
was  punished  for  her  trustfulness  .  .  . 
and  those  same  kind  eyes  and  that 
friendly  face  ;  only  yesterday,  they  had 
said  their  evening  prayers  together  and 
so  devoutly  !  Oh,  'twas  such  a  pity ! 
And  what  would  people  say  ?  .  .  .  And 
the  priest?  .  .  .  And  Our  Lord  and 
all  His  dear  saints  ?  .  .  She  fell  into 
ever-deepening  despair  and  saw  never  a 
way  out.  Very  far  away  shone  her 
pure  little  life  of  former  days,  her  white 
and  peaceful  little  soul  floating  in  that 
unruffled  blue  sanctity,  in  that  fragrant 
twilight  of  evening  after  evening  .  .  . 
and  all  this  he  had  now  crushed  in  one 
second  and  stamped  to  pieces.  And 
he  was  dead  to  her,  he  with  whom  she 
279 


The  Path  of  Life 

had  dreamed  so  sweetly  and  lived  in 
glad  expectation.  In  her  wretchedness, 
she  was  left  stark  alone,  abandoned 
like  a  poor  babe  in  the  snow.  She 
plunged  her  face  into  the  white  sheets 
and  cried.  She  would  have  liked  to 
pine  away  there,  in  that  kindly  darkness, 
and  never,  never  to  see  daylight  again. 


280 


THE   END 


XI 

THE   END 

'yTEEN  pulled  up  his  bent  back,  wiped 
*-^  the  sweat  from  his  forehead  with 
his  bare  arm  and  drew  a  short  breath. 

Zalia,  with  her  head  close  to  the  ground, 
went  on  binding  her  sheaves. 

The  sun  was  blazing. 

After  a  while,  Zeen  took  up  his  sickle 
again  and  went  on  cutting  down  the 
corn.  With  short,  even  strokes,  with  a 
swing  of  his  arm,  the  sickle  rose  and, 
with  a  "  d-zin-n-n "  fell  at  the  foot  of 
the  cornstalks  and  brought  them  down  in 
great  armfuls.  Then  they  were  hooked 
away  and  dragged  back  in  little  even 
heaps,  ready  to  be  bound  up. 
283 


The  Path  of  Life 

It  did  not  last  long  :  he  stopped 
again,  looked  round  over  all  that  power 
of  corn  which  still  had  to  be  cut  and 
beyond,  over  that  swarming  plain,  which 
lay  scorching,  so  hugely  far,  under  that 
merciless  sun.  He  saw  Zalia  look 
askant  because  he  did  not  go  on  working 
and,  to  account  for  his  resting,  drew 
his  whetstone  from  his  trouser-pocket 
and   began   slowly  to  sharpen   the  sickle. 

"  Zalia,  it's  so  hot." 

"  Yes,  it's  that,"  said  Zalia. 

He  worked  on  again,  but  slowly, 
very  slackly. 

The  sweat  ran  in  great  drops  down 
his  body  ;  and  sometimes  he  felt  as  if 
he  would  tumble  head  foremost  into 
the  corn.  Zalia  heard  his  breath  come 
short  and  fast  ;  she  looked  at  him  and 
asked  what  was  the  matter  His  arms 
dropped  feebly  to  his  sides ;  and  the 
hook   and  sickle  fell  from   his  hands. 

"  Zalia,  I   don't   know  .  .   .  but   some- 
284 


The  End 

thing's  catching  my  breath  like  ;  and  my 
eyes   are  dim.  .   .   ." 

M  It's  the  heat,  Zeen,  it'll  wear  off. 
Take   a  pull." 

She  fetched  the  bottle  of  gin  from 
the  grass  edge  of  the  field,  poured  a 
sip  down  his  throat  and  stood  looking 
to  see  how  it  worked  : 

"  Well  ?  " 

Zeen  did  not  answer,  but  stood  there 
shivering  and  staring,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  a  bluebonnet  in   the  cut  corn. 

"  Come,  come,  Zeen,  get  it  done ! 
Have  just  another  try  :  it'll  get  cooler 
directly  and  we'll  be  finished  before  dark." 

41  Oh,  Zalia,  it's  so  awfully  hot  here 
and  it'll  be  long  before  it's  evening  !  " 

"  But,   Zeen,   what  do  you  feel  ?  " 

Zeen   made   no   movement. 

«  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I    am,  Zalia.     No,  not    ill,  but 

I  feel  so  queer  and  I  think   I    ought   to 

go  home." 

285 


The  Path  of  Life 

Zalia  did  not  know  what  to  do  :  she 
was  frightened  and  did  not  understand 
his  funny  talk. 

"  If  you're  ill  .  .  .  if  you  can't  go  on, 
you'd  better  get  home  quick  :  you're 
standing  there  like  a  booby." 

Zeen  left  his  sickle  on  the  ground 
and  went  straight  off  the  field.  She 
saw  him  go  slowly,  the  poor  old  soul, 
lurching  like  a  drunken  man,  and  dis- 
appear behind  the  trees.  Then  she 
took  her  straw-band  and  bundled  up  all 
the  little  heaps  of  corn,  one  after  the 
other,  and  bound  them  into  sheaves. 
She  next  took  the  sickle  and  the  hook 
and  just  went  cutting  away  like  a  man  : 
stubbornly,  steadily,  with  a  frenzied 
determination  to  get  it  done.  The  more 
the  corn  fell,  the  quicker  she  made  the 
sickle  whizz. 

The  sweat  ran  down  her  face  ;  now 
and  then,  she  jogged  back  the  straw  hat 
from  over  her  eyes  to  see  how  much 
286 


The  End 

was  left  standing  and  then  went  on 
cutting,  on  and  on.  She  panted  in  the 
doing  of  it.  .  .  .  She  was  there  alone, 
on  that  outstretched  field,  in  that  heat 
which  weighed  upon  her  like  a  heavy 
load  ;  it  was  stifling.  She  heard  no 
sound  besides  the  swish  of  her  steel  and 
the  rustling  of  the  falling  corn. 

When  at  last  she  could  go  on  no 
longer,  she  took  a  sip  at  the  bottle  and 
got  new  strength. 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  sky  when 
she  stood  there  alone  on  the  smooth 
field,  with  all  the  corn  lying  flat  at  her 
feet.     Then  she  started  binding. 

The  air  grew  cooler.  When  the  last 
sheaf  was  fastened  in  its  straw-band  and 
they  now  stood  set  up  in  heavy  stooks, 
like  black  giants  in  straight  rows,  it 
began  to  grow  dark.  She  wiped  the 
sweat  from  her  face,  slipped  on  her  blue 
striped  jacket,  put  the  bottle  in  her  hat, 
took  the  sickle  and  hook  on  her  shoulder 
287 


The  Path  of  Life 

and,  before  going,  stood  for  a  while 
looking  at  her  work.  She  could  now 
see  so  very  far  across  that  close-shorn 
plain  ;  she  stood  there  so  alone,  so  tall 
in  that  stubble-field,  everything  lay  so 
flat  and,  far  away  over  there,  the  trees 
stood  black  and  that  mill  and  the  fellow 
walking  there  :  all  as  though  drawn 
with  ink  on  the  sky.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  the  summer  was  now  past  and 
that  heavy  sultriness  was  a  last  cramped 
sigh  before  the  coming  of  the  short  days 
and  the  cold. 

She  went  home.  Zeen  was  ill  and  it  was 
so  strange  to  be  going  back  without  him. 
It  was  all  so  dreary,  so  dim  and  deadly, 
so  awful.  Along  the  edge  of  the  deep 
sunken  path  the  grasshoppers  chirped  here 
and  there,  all  around  her:  an  endless 
chirping  on  every  side,  all  over  the  grass 
and  the  field  ;  and  it  went  like  a  gentle 
woof  of  voices  softly  singing.  This 
singing  at  last  began  to  chatter  in  her 
288 


The  End 

ears  and  it  became  a  whining  rustle,  a 
deafening  tumult  and  a  painful  laughter. 
From  behind  the  pollard  her  cat  jumped 
on  to  the  path  :  it  had  come  to  the 
field  to  meet  her  and,  purring  cosily, 
was  now  arching  its  back  and  loitering 
between  Zalia's  legs  until  she  stroked  it ; 
then  it  ran  home  before  her  with  great 
bounds.  The  goat,  hearing  steps  approach, 
put  its  head  over  the  stable-door  and 
began  to  bleat. 

The  house-door  was  open  ;  as  she  went 
in,  Zalia  saw  not  a  thing  before  her  eyes, 
but  she  heard  something  creaking  on  the 
floor.  It  was  Zeen,  trying  to  scramble 
to  his  feet  when  he  heard  her  come    in. 

"  Zeen  !  "  she  cried. 

"Yes,"  moaned  Zeen. 

"  How  are  you  ?  No  better  yet  ? 
Where  are  you  ?  .  .  .  Why  are  you 
lying  flat  on  the  floor  like  this  ?  " 

"  Zalia,  I'm  so  ill  .  .  .  my  stomach 
and  .  .  .  " 

289  T 


The  Path  of  Life 

"  You've  never  been  ill  yet,  Zeen  ! 
It  won't  be  anything  this  time." 

"I'm  ill  now,  Zalia." 

"Wait,  I'll  get  a  light.  Why  aren't 
you  in  bed  ?  " 

"  In  bed,  in  bed  .  .  .  then  it'll  be  for 
good,  Zalia  ;  I'm  afraid  of  my  bed." 

She  felt  along  the  ceiling  for  the  lamp, 
then  in  the  corner  of  the  hearth  for  the 
tinder-box  ;  she  struck   fire   and  lit  up. 

Zeen  looked  pale,  yellow,  deathlike. 
Zalia  was  startled  by  it,  but,  to  comfort  him  : 

u  It'll  be  nothing,  Zeen,"  she  said. 
"  I'll  give  you  a  little   Haarlem  oil." 

She  pulled  him  on  to  a  chair,  fetched  the 
little  bottle,  put  a  few  drops  into  a  bowl 
of  milk  and  poured  it  down  his  throat. 

"  Is  it  doing  you  good  ?  " 

And  Zeen,  to  say  something,  said  : 

"Yes,  it  is,  Zalia,  but  I'd  like  to  go 

to  sleep,  I'm  feeling   cold  now  and    I've 

got   needles   sticking   into    my   side  .  .  . 

here,  see  ? " 

290 


The  End 

And  he  pressed  both  his  hands  on  the 
place. 

"  Yes,  you're  better  in  bed  ;  it'll  be 
gone  in  the  morning  and  we'll  fetch 
in  the  corn." 

"  Is  it  cut  ?  " 

"  All  done  and  stooked  ;  if  it  keeps 
fine  to-morrow,  we'll  get  it  all  into  the 
barn." 

Zalia  lifted  him  under  his  armpits 
and  they  crawled  on  like  that  into  the 
other  room,  where  the  loom  stood  with 
the  bed  behind  it.  She  helped  him  take 
off  his  jacket  and  trousers  and  put  him 
to  bed,  tucked  him  nicely  under  the 
blanket  and  put  his  night-cap  on  his  head. 

Then  she  went  and  lit  the  fire  in  the 
hearth,  hung  up  the  pot  with  the  goat's 
food,  washed  the  potatoes  and  sat  down 
to  peel  them  for  supper. 

She  had  not  peeled  three,  when  she 
heard  Zeen  bringing  up. 

"That's  the  oil,  it'll  do  him  good," 
291 


The  Path  of  Life 

she  thought  and,  fetching  a  can  of  water 
from  outside,  gave  him  a  bowl  to  drink. 

Then  she  went  back  to  her  peeling. 
A  bit  later,  she  sat  thinking  of  other 
remedies  —  limeflowers,  sunflower-seeds, 
pearl  barley,  flowers  of  sulphur — when 
suddenly  she  saw  Mite  Kornelje  go  by. 
She  ran  out  and  called  : 

«  Mite  !  " 

"What  is  it,  Zalia  ?  " 

"Mite,  Zeen  is  ill. 

"  What,  ill  ?     All  at  once  ?  M 

"  Yes,  all  of  a  sudden,  cutting  the  corn 
in  the  field." 

"  Is  he  bad  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I've  given  him  some 
Haarlem  oil,  he's  been  sick ;  he's  com- 
plaining of  pains  in  his  side  and  in  his 
stomach  ;  he's  very  pale  :  you  wouldn't 
know  him." 

They    went    indoors.     Zalia   took   the 
lamp   and   both   passed   in,    between    the 
loom  and  the  wall  by  Zeen's  bed. 
292 


The  End 

He  lay  staring  at  the  ceiling  and 
catching  his  breath.  Mite  stood  looking 
at  him. 

"  You  must  give  him  some  English 
salt,1  Zalia." 

<c  Why,  Mite,  I  never  thought  of  that  ; 
yes,  he  must  have  some  English  salt." 

And  she  climbed  on  to  a  chair  and 
took  from  the  plank  above  the  bed  a 
dusty  calabash  full  of  little  paper  bags 
and  packets. 

She  opened  them  one  by  one  and 
found  canary-seed,  blacklead,  washing- 
blue,  powdered  cloves,  cinnamon,  sugar- 
candy,  burnt-ash  .  .  .  but  no  English 
salt. 

"  I'll  run  home  and  fetch  some,  Zalia. '' 

"Yes,  Mite,  do." 

And  Mite  went  off. 

u  Well,  Zeen,  no  better  yet  ? " 

Zeen    did    not    answer.       She    took    a 
pail  of  water    and  a  cloth,  cleaned  away 
1  Epsom  salts. 
293 


The  Path  of  Life 

the  mess  from  beside  the  bed  and  then 
went  back  to  peel  her  potatoes. 

Mite  came  back  with  the  English  salt. 
Treze  Wizeur  and  Stanse  Zegers,  who 
had  heard  the  news,  also  came  to  see 
how  Zeen  was  getting  on.  Mite  stirred 
a  handful  of  the  salt  in  a  bowl  of  water 
and  they  all  four  went  to  the  sick  man's 
bed.  Zeen  swallowed  the  draught  with- 
out blinking.  Mite  knew  of  other 
remedies,  Stanse  knew  of  some  too  and 
Treze  of  many  more  :  they  asked  Zeen 
questions  and  babbled  to  him,  made  him 
put  out  his  tongue  and  felt  his  pulse, 
cried  out  at  his  gasping  for  breath  and 
his  pale  colour  and  his  dilated  pupils 
and  his  burning  fever.  Zeen  did  not 
stir  and  lay  looking  at  the  ceiling.  When 
he  was  tired  of  the  noise,  he  said  : 

"  Leave  me  alone/ ' 

And  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

Then  they  all  went  back  to  the  kitchen. 
The  goat's  food  was  done.  Zalia  hung  the 
294 


The  End 

kettle  with  water  on  the  hook  and  made 
coffee  ;  and  the  four  women  sat  round  the 
table  telling  one  another  stories  of  illness. 
In  the  other  room  there  was  no  sound. 

A  bit  later,  Mite's  little  girl  came  to 
see  where  mother  was  all  this  time.  She 
was  given  a  lump  of  sugar  and  sat  down 
by  her  mother. 

11  Zalia,  have  you  only  one  lamp  ?  " 
asked  Treze. 

"That's  all,  Treze,  but  I  have  the 
candle." 

"  What  candle  ?  " 

"  The  blessed  candle." 

"  We've  not  come  to  that  yet  :  it's 
only  that  Zeen  has  to  lie  in  the  dark 
like  this  and  we  have  to  go  to  and 
fro  with  the  lamp  to  look  at  him." 

"  Zeen  would  rather  lie  in   the  dark." 

Cl  I'll    tell    you   what :  Fietje  shall  run 
home   and    fetch    something,    won't    you, 
Fietje  ?     And  say  that  mother    is   going 
to  stay  here  because  Zeen  is  dying." 
295 


The  Path  of  Life 

Fietje  went  off.  The  coffee  was  ready 
and  when  they  had  gulped  down  their 
first  bowl,  they  went  to  have  another 
look  in  the  room  where  the  sick  man 
lay. 

Zeen  was  worse. 

"  We  must  sit  up  with  him,"  said 
Stanse. 

"  For  sure,"  said  Treze.  M  I'll  go  and 
tell  my  man  :  I'll  be  back  at  once." 

"  Tell  Free  as  you're  passing  that 
Fm  staying  here  too,"  said  Stanse. 

"  We  must  eat,  for  all  that,"  said 
Zalia ;  and  she  hung  the  potatoes  over 
the  fire. 

Then  she  went  to  milk  the  goat  and 
take  it  its  food.  It  was  bright  as  day 
outside  and  quiet,  so  very  quiet,  with 
still  some  of  the  heat  of  the  sun  linger- 
ing in  the  air,  which  weighed  sultrily. 
She  crept  into  the  dark  goat-house,  put 
down  the  pot  with  the  food  and  started 
milking. 

296 


The  End 

"  Betje,  Betje,  Zeen  is  so  ill  ;  Zeen 
may  be  dying,  Betje !  " 

She  always  clacked  to  her  goat  like 
that.  Two  streams  of  milk  came  clat- 
tering in  turns  into  the  little  pail. 

People  came  :  Treze  and  Mite's  little 
girl,  with  a  lantern,  and  Barbara  Dekkers, 
who  had  also  come  to  have  a  look. 

"  I'm  here,"  said  Zalia,  "  I've  done, 
I'm  coming  at  once." 

They  stood  talking  a  bit  outside  in 
the  moonlight  and  then  went  in. 

"  Perhaps  my  man'll  come  on,"  said 
Treze.  "  A  man  is  better  than  three 
women  in  illness  ;  and  Virginie's  coming 
too  :  I've  been  to  tell  her." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Barbara,  " who'd 
ever  have  thought  it  of  Zeen  !  " 

"Yes,  friends,  and  never  been  ill  in 
his  life  ;  and  he  turned  seventy." 

Stanse    mashed     the     potatoes  ;    Zalia 
poured   a   drain  of  milk  over  them  and 
hung  them  over  the  fire  again. 
297 


The  Path  of  Life 

"  Have  you  all  had  your  suppers  ?  " 
she  asked. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Treze  and  Barbara  and 
Mite. 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Stanse. 

Zalia  turned  the  steaming  potato-mash 
into  an  earthen  porringer  and  she  and 
Stanse  sat  down  to  it.  The  others  drank 
a  fresh  bowl  of  coffee. 

They  were  silent. 

The  door  opened  and  from  behind 
the  screen  came  a  great  big  fellow  with 
a  black  beard  : 

"  What's  up  here  ?  A  whole  gathering 
of  people:  is  it  harvest-treat  to-day,  Zalia? 
Why,  here's  Barbara  and  Mite  and  .  .  ." 

"  Warten,  Zeen  is  ill." 

«  Zeen  ?  .  .  .  Ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ill,  man,  and  we're  sitting  up." 

Warten  opened  wide  eyes,  flung  the 
box  which  he  carried  over  his  shoulder 
by  a  leather  strap  to  the  ground  and 
sat  down  on  it  : 

298 


The  End 

"Ha!  So  Zeen's  ill  .  .  .  he's  not 
one  of  the  youngest  either." 

"Seventy-five." 

They  were  silent.  The  womenfolk 
drank  their  coffee.  Warten  fished  out 
a  pipe  and  tobacco  from  under  his  blue 
smock  and  sat  looking  at  the  rings  of 
smoke  that  wound  up   to  the  ceiling. 

"  Well,  perhaps  I've  come  at  the  right 
time,  if  that's  so." 

u  You  can  help  sit  up." 

"  Have  you  had  your  supper,  Warten  ? " 

u  Yes,  Zalia,  at  the  farm." 

"  And  how's  trade  ?  "  asked  Stanse. 

"Quietly,  old  girl." 

They  heard  a  moaning  in  the  other 
room.  Barbara  lit  the  lantern  and  all  went 
to  look.     Warten  stayed  behind,  smoking. 

Zeen  lay  there,  on  a  poverty-stricken 
little  bed,  low  down  near  the  ground, 
behind  the  loom,  huddled  deep  on  his  bol- 
ster under  a  dirty  blanket  :  a  thin  little 
black  chap,  leaning  against  a  pillow  in  the 
299 


The  Path  of  Life 

dancing  twilight  of  the  lantern.  His  eyes 
were  closed  and  his  bony  face  half-hidden 
in  the  blue  night-cap.  His  breath  rustled  ; 
and  each  puff  from  his  hoarse  throat, 
blowing  out  the  thin  flesh  of  his  cheeks, 
escaped  through  a  little  opening  on  one 
side  of  his  sunken  lips,  which  each  time 
opened  and  shut. 

"Ooh  !    Ooh  !    Ooh  !  "  cried  Barbara. 

"  That's  bad,  that's  bad,"  said  Stanse 
and  shook  her  head. 

"His  eyes  are  shut  and  yet  he's  not 
asleep  !  " 

"  Zeen  !  Zeen  !  "  cried  Mite  and  she 
pushed  him  back  by  his  forehead  to 
make  him  look  up.  "  Zeen !  Zeen  ! 
It's  I  :    don't  you  know  Mite  ? " 

"  Oof !  "  sighed  Zeen  ;  and  his  head 
dropped  down  again  without  his  eyes 
opening. 

"He's  got  the  fever,"  said  Barbara. 
"Just    feel    how    his    forehead's    burning 

and  he's  as  hot  as  fire." 
300 


The  End 

"  Haven't  you  poulticed  him  ?  M  asked 
Stanse.  "  He  wants  poultices  on  his 
feet  :    mustard/' 

u  We  haven't  any  mustard  and  it's  far 
to  the  village." 

"  Then  he  must  have  a  bran  bath, 
Zalia.     Stanse,  put  on  the  kettle." 

"  Have  you  any  bran,  Zalia  ?  " 

u  No,  not  ready  ;    but  there's   maize." 

"And  a  sieve?" 

"  Yes,  there's  a  sieve." 

"  Hi,  Warten,  come  and  sift !  " 

Warten  came  in  : 

"  Zeen,  how  are  you,  my  boy  ?  Oh, 
how  thin  he  is !  And  his  breath  .  .  . 
it's  spluttering,  that's  bad.  He'll  go  off 
quickly,  Barbara,  it  seems  to  me." 

"Not  to-night,"  said  Treze. 

"  Warten,  go  to  the  loft,  take  the 
lamp  and  sift  out  a  handful  of  maize  ; 
Zeen  must  have  a  bran  bath  at  once." 

Warten    went  up   the  stair.      After   a 

while,  they  heard  above  their  heads  the 

301 


The  Path  of  Life 

regular,  jogging  drag  of  the  sieve  over 
the  boarded  ceiling  and  the  fine  meal- 
dust  snowed  down  through  the  cracks, 
whirling  round  the  lamp,  and  fell  on 
Zeen's  bed  and  on  the  women  standing 
round. 

Zeen  nodded  his  head.  They  held 
a  bowl  of  milk  to  his  mouth  ;  two  little 
white  streaks  ran  down  from  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  into  his  shirt-collar. 

The  sieve  went  on  dragging.  The 
women  looked  at  Zeen,  then  at  one 
another  and  then  at  the  lantern.  In 
the  kitchen,  the  kettle  sang  drearily.  .  .  . 

Warten  came  down  from  the  loft  with 
half  a  pailful  of  bran.  Barbara  poured 
the  steaming  water  on  it  and  flung  in  a 
handful  of  salt. 

They  took  the  clothes  off  the  bed  and 

pulled  his  feet  into  the  bran-water.     Zeen 

groaned  ;  he   opened    his   eyes  wide  and 

looked  round  wildly  at  all  those  people. 

He  hung  there  for  a  very  long  time, 
302 


The  End 

with  his  lean  black  legs  out  of  the  bed 
and  the  bony  knees  and  shrunk  thighs  in 
the  insipid,  sickly-smelling  steam  of  the 
bran-water.  Then  they  lifted  him  out 
and  stuck  his  wet  feet  under  the  bed- 
clothes again.  Zeen  did  not  stir,  but 
just  lay  with  the  rattle  in  his  throat. 

"  What  a  sad  sick  man,"  said  Stanse, 
softly. 

Mite  wanted  to  give  him  some  food, 
eggs  :    it  might  be  faintness. 

Treze  wanted  to  bring  him  round 
with  gin  :    her  husband  had  once  .  .   . 

"Is  there  any,  for  the  night?  .  •  ." 
asked  Stanse. 

"  There's  a  whole  bottle  over  there, 
in   the  cupboard." 

Zeen  opened  his  eyes — two  green, 
glazed  eyes,  which  no  longer  saw  things 
— and  wriggled  his  arms  from  under 
the  clothes  : 

"Why  don't  you   make  the  goat  stop 
bleating  ?  "    he  stammered. 
303 


The  Path  of  Life 

They  looked  at  one  another. 

"  Zalia,  why  won't  you  speak  to  me  ? 
.  .  .  And  what  are  all  these  people  doing 
here  ?  .  .  .  I  don't  want  any  one  to  help 
me  die !  ...  I  and  Zalia  ...  I  and 
Zalia  .  .  .  Look,  how  beautiful !  Zalia, 
the  procession's  going  up  the  wall  there 
.  .  .  Why  don't  you  look  ?  .  .  .  It's  so 
beautiful  !  .  .  .  And  I,  I'm  the  only 
ugly  one  in  it.  .  .  ." 

"  He's  wandering,"  whispered  Treze. 

"  And  what's  that  chap  doing  here, 
Zalia  ?  " 

"  It's  I,  Zeen,  I  :  Warten  the  spectacle- 
man." 

His  eyes  fell  to  again  and  his  cheeks 
again  blew  the  breath  through  the  little  slit 
of  his  mouth.    It  rattled ;  and  the  fever  rose. 

"  It'll  be  to-night,"  said  Treze. 

u  Where  can  Virginie  be  ?  She'll 
come  too  late." 

"Virginie  is  better   than  three  doctors 
or  a  priest  either,"  thought  Mite. 
304 


The  End 

"Zalia,  I  think  I'd  get  out  the 
candle.'' 

Zalia  went  to  the  chest  and  got  out 
the  candle. 

"  Mother,  I'm  frightened,"  whined 
Fietje. 

"  You  mustn't  be  frightened  of  dead 
people,  child  ;  you  must  get  used  to  it." 

"  Have  you  any  holy  water,   Zalia  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Barbara :  it's  in  the  little 
pot  over  the  bed  !  " 

"  And  blessed  palm  ?  " 

"  Behind  the   crucifix." 

There  was  a  creaking  in  the  kitchen 
and  Virginie  appeared  past  the  loom  :  a 
little  old  woman  huddled  in  her  hooded 
cloak  ;  in  one  hand  she  carried  a  little  lan- 
tern and  in  the  other  a  big  prayer-book. 
She  came  quietly  up  to  the  bed,  looked 
at  Zeen  for  some  time,  felt  his  pulse  and 
then,  looking  up,  said,  very  quietly  : 

"  Zeen's  going.  .  .  .  Has  the  priest 
been?" 

3*5  u 


; 


The  Path  of  Life 

M  The    priest  ?    .    .    .    It's    so    far    and 
so  late  and  the  poor  soul's  so  old.  .  .  ." 

"  What  have  you  given  him  ?  " 

"  Haarlem  oil,  English  salt  .  .  ." 

"  And  we  put  his  feet  in  bran  water." 

Virginie  stood  thinking. 

u  Have    you    any   linseed-meal  ? "    she 
asked. 

"No." 

"  Then  .    .    .    but   it's   too   late    now, 
any  way.    .    .    ." 

And  she  looked   into   the   sick    man's 
eyes  again. 

"He's  very  far  gone,"  thought  Mite. 

"Got  worse  quickly,"  said  Barbara. 

Zalia  said  nothing  ;  she  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  looking  at  her  husband 
and  then  at  the  women  who  were  saying 
what  they  thought  of  him. 
~"  Get  the  blessed  candle  ;  we  must 
pray,  good  people,"  said  Virginie ;  and 
she  put  on  her  spectacles  and  went  and 
stood  with  her  book  under  the  light. 
306 


The  End 

The  women  knelt  on  low  chairs  or  on 
the  floor.  Warten  stood  with  his  elbows 
leaning  on  the  rail  of  the  bed,  at  Zeen's 
head.  Treze  took  the  blessed  candle  out  of 
its  paper  covering  and  lit  it  at  the  lamp. 

Zeen's  chest  rose  and  fell  and  his  throat 
rattled  painfully  ;  his  eyes  stood  gazing 
dimly  at  the  rafters  of  the  ceiling ;  his  thin 
lips  were  pale  and  his  face  turned  blue 
with  the  pain  ;  he  no  longer  looked  like  a 
living  thing. 

Virginie  read  very  slowly,  with  a  dismal, 
drawling  voice,  through  her  nose,  while 
Treze  held  Zeen's  weak  fingers  closed 
round  the  candle.     It  was  still  as  death. 

"  May  the  Light  of  the  World,  Christ 
Jesus,  Who  is  symbolized  by  this  candle, 
brightly  light  thy  eyes  that  thou  mayest 
not  depart  this  life  in  death  everlasting. 
Our  Father 

They  softly  muttered  this  Our  Father 
and  it  remained  solemnly  still,  with  only 
Warten's  rough  grunting  and  Zeen's  pain- 
307 


The  Path  of  Life 

ful  breathing  and  the  goat  which  kept 
ramming  its  head  against  the  wall.  And 
then,  slower  by  degrees  : 

"Depart,  O  Christian  soul,  from  this  sor-. 
rowful  world  ;  go  to  meet  thy  dear  Bride- 
groom, Christ  Jesus,  and  carry  a  lighted 
candle  in  thy  hands  :  He  Who  .  .  ." 

Then  Barbara,  interrupting  her,  whis- 
pered : 

"  Look,  Virginie,  he's  getting  worse ; 
the  rattle's  getting  fainter  :  turn  over, 
you'll  be  too  late." 

Treze  was  tired  of  holding  Zeen's  hand 
round  the  candle  :  she  spilt  a  few  drops  of 
wax  on  the  rail  of  the  bed  and  stuck  the 
candle  on  it. 

Zeen  jerked  himself  up,  put  his  hands 
under  the  clothes  and  fumbled  with  them  ; 
then  he  lay  still. 

"  He's  packing  up,"  whispered  Barbara. 

"  He's  going,"  one  of  the  others 
thought. 

Virginie    dipped  the   palm-branch    into 
308 


The  End 

the  holy  water  and  sprinkled  the  bed  and 
the  bystanders  ;  then  she  read  on  : 

"  Go  forth,  O  Christian  soul,  out  of  this 
world,  in  the  name  of  God  the  Father 
Almighty,  Who  created  thee,  in  the  name 
of  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God, 
Who  suffered  for  thee  ;  in  the  name  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  Who  sanctified  thee." 

11  Hurry,  hurry,  Virginie  :  he's  almost 
stopped  breathing  !  " 

The  cat  jumped  between  Zalia  and 
Treze  on  to  the  bed  and  went  making 
dough  with  its  front  paws  on  the  clothes  ; 
it  looked  surprised  at  all  those  people  and 
purred  softly.  Warten  drove  it  away 
with  his  cap. 

u  Receive,  O  Lord,  Thy  servant  Zeen 
into  the  place  of  salvation  which  he  hopes 
to  obtain  through  Thy  mercy." 

"Amen,"  they  ail  answered. 

u  Deliver,    O    Lord,    the   soul    of  Thy 
servant  from  all  danger  of  hell  and  from 
all  pain  and  tribulation." 
309 


The  Path  of  Life 

"Amen." 

"  Deliver,  O  Lord,  the  soul  of  Thy  ser- 
vant Zeen,  as  Thou  deliveredst  Enoch  and 
Elias  from  the  common  death  of  the  world." 

"Amen." 

"Deliver,  O  Lord,  the  soul  of  Thy 
servant  Zeen,  as  Thou  deliveredst  .  .  ." 

"  I'm  on  fire  !  I'm  on  fire  !  "  howled 
Warten.     "  My  smock  !      My  smock  !  " 

And  he  jumped  over  all  the  chairs  and 
rushed  outside,  with  the  others  after  him. 

"  Caught  fire  at  the  candle  !  "  he  cried, 
quite  out  of  breath. 

They  put  out  the  flames,  pulled  the 
smock  over  his  head  and  poured  water  on 
his  back,  where  his  underclothes  were 
smouldering. 

"  My  smock,  my  smock !  "  he  went  on 
moaning.  "Brand-new!  Cost  me  forty- 
six  stuivers  !  " 

And  he  stood  with  his  smock  in  his 
hands,  looking  at  the  huge  holes  and  rents. 

They  made  a  great  noise,  all  together, 
310 


The  End 

and  their  sharp  voices  rang  far  and  wide 
into  the  still  night. 

Virginie  alone  had  remained  by  the  bed- 
side. She  picked  up  the  candle,  lit  it  again, 
put  it  back  on  the  rail  of  the  bed  and  then 
went  on  reading  the  prayers.  When  she 
saw  that  Zeen  lay  very  calmly  and  no  longer 
breathed,  she  sprinkled  him  with  holy  water 
for  the  last  time  and  then  went  outside : 

"People  .  .  .  he's  with  the  Lord." 

It  was  as  if  their  fright  had  made  them 
forget  what  was  happening  indoors  :  they 
rushed  in,  eager  to  know  .  .  .  and  Zeen 
was  dead. 

"  Stone-dead/'  said  Barbara. 

"  Hopped  the  twig  !  "  said  Warten. 

"Quick  !  Hurry  !  The  tobacco-seed  will 
be  tainted  ! M  screamed  Mite ;  and  she 
snatched  down  two  or  three  linen  bags 
which  hung  from  the  rafters  and  carried 
them  outside. 

First  they  moaned  ;  then  they  tried  to 
comfort  one  another,  especially  Zalia,  who 
3" 


The  Path  of  Life 

had  dropped  into  a  chair  and  turned  very 
pale. 

Then  they  set  to  work  :  Treze  filled  the 
little  glasses  ;  Barbara  hung  the  water  over 
the  fire  ;  and  Warten,  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
stropped  his  razor  to  shave  Zeen's  beard. 

"  And  the  children  !  The  children  who 
are  not  here!"  moaned  Zalia.  "He  ought 
to  have  seen  the  children  !  " 

"  First  say  the  prayers,"  ordered  Vir- 
ginie. 

All  knelt  down  and,  while  Warten 
shaved  the  dead  man,  it  went  : 

"  Come  to  his  assistance,  all  ye  saints  of 
God  ;  meet  him,  all  ye  angels  of  God  : 
receiving  his  soul,  offering  it  in  the  sight 
of  the   Most  High.  .  .  . 

"  To  Thee,  O  Lord,  we  commend  the 
soul  of  Thy  servant,  that  being  dead  to 
this  world,  he  may  live  to  Thee  ;  and 
whatever  sins  he  has  committed  in  this 
life,  through  human  frailty,  do  Thou,  in 
Thy  most  merciful  goodness,  forgive. 
312 


The  End 

"  Amen,"  they  answered. 

Virginie  shut  her  book,  once  more 
sprinkled  holy  water  on  the  corpse  and 
went  home,  praying  as  she  went. 

Zalia  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  and 
closed  her  husband's  eyes  ;  then  she  laid 
a  white  towel  on  a  little  table  by  the  bed 
and  put  the  candle  on  it  and  the  crucifix 
and  the  holy  water. 

Warten  and  Barbara  took  Zeen  out  of 
the  bed  and  put  him  on  a  chair,  washed  him 
all  over  with  luke-warm  water,  put  a  clean 
shirt  on  him  and  his  Sunday  clothes  over 
him  ;  then  they  laid  him  on  the  bed 
again. 

"He'll  soon  begin  to  must,"  said  Barbara. 

"  The  weather's  warm." 

"  He's  very  bent :  how'll  they  get 
him  into  the  coffin  ?  " 

"  Crack  his  back." 

Treze  looked  round  for  a  prayer-book 
to  lay  under  Zeen's  chin  and  a  crucifix 
and  rosary  for  his  hands. 
313 


The  Path  of  Life 

Mite  took  a  red  handkerchief  and 
bound  it  round  his  head  to  keep  his  mouth 
closed.  Fietje  was  still  kneeling  and 
saying  Our  Fathers. 

"  It's  done  now,"  said  Barbara,  with  a 
deep  sigh.  "  We'll  have  just  one  more 
glass  and  then  go  to  bed." 

"  Oh,  dear  people,  stay  a  little  longer !  M 
whined  Zalia.  "Don't  leave  me  here 
alone." 

"  It's  only,"  said  Mite,  "  that  it'll  be 
light  early  to-morrow  and  we've  had  no 
sleep  yet." 

u  Come,  come,"  said  Barbara,  to 
comfort  her,  "  you  mustn't  take  on 
now.  Zeen  has  lived  his  span  and  has 
died  happily  in  his  bed." 

"  Question  is,  shall  we  do  as  well  ? " 
said  Mite. 

"  And    Siska   and    Romenie   and   Kor- 
dula  and  the  boys,  who  are  not  here  !    They 
ought  to  have  seen  their  father  die  !  .  .  . 
The  poor  children,  they'll  cry  so!" 
314 


The  End 

"  They'll  know  it  in  good  time,"  said 
Warten. 

11  And  where  are  they  living  now  ?  " 
asked  Mite. 

"  In  France,  the  two  oldest  .  .  .  and 
there's  Miel,  the  soldier  .  .  .  it's  in 
their  letters,  behind  the  glass." 

"  Give  'em  to  me,"  said  Treze.  "  I'll 
make  my  boy  write  to-morrow,  before 
he  goes  to  school. 

They  were  going  off. 

"And  I,  who,  with  this  all,  don't 
know  where  I'm  to  sleep,"  said  Warten. 
"  My  old  roost,  over  the  goat-house  : 
you'll  be  wanting  that  to-night,  Zalia  ? " 

Zalia  wavered. 

"  Zalia  could  come  with  me,"  said 
Barbara. 

"  And  leave  the  house  alone  ?  And 
who's  to  go  to  the  priest  to-morrow  ? 
And  to  the  carpenter  ?  And  my  harvest, 
my  harvest !  Yes,  yes,  Warten,  do  you 
get  into  the  goat-house  and  help  me  a 
315 


The  Path  of  Life 

bit  to-morrow.  I  shall  sleep  :  why 
not  ? " 

"  Alia,1  come,  Fietje  ;  mother's  going 
home." 

They  went ;  and  Zalia  came  a  bit  of 
the  way  with  them.  Their  wooden 
shoes  clattered  softly  in  the  powdery 
sand  of  the  white  road  ;  when  they  had 
gone  very  far,  their  voices  still  rang 
loud  and  their  figures  looked  like 
wandering  pollards. 

In  the  east,  a  thin  golden-red  streak 
hung  between  two  dark  clouds.  It  was 
very  cool. 

"  Fine  weather  to-morrow,"  said 
Warten ;  and  he  trudged  off  to  his 
goat-house.     "  Good-night,   Zalia." 

"  Good-night,  Warten." 

"Sleep  well." 

"  Sleep  well  too  and  say  another 
Our  Father  for  Zeen." 

"  Certainly." 

1  A  corruption  of  the  French  a/lez  ! 
3i6 


The  End 

She  went  in  and  bolted  the  door. 
Inside  it  all  smelt  of  candle  and  the 
musty  odour  of  the  corpse.  She  put 
out  the  fire  in  the  hearth,  dipped  her 
fingers  once  more  in  the  holy  water  and 
made  a  cross  over  Zeen.  While  her 
lips  muttered  the  evening  prayers,  she 
took  off  her  kerchief,  her  jacket  and 
her  cap  and  let  fall  her  skirt.  Then 
she  straddled  across  Zeen  and  lay  right 
against  the  wall.  She  twisted  her  feet 
in  her  shift  and  crept  carefully  under 
the  bed-clothes.  She  shuddered.  Her 
thoughts  turned  like  the  wind  :  her 
daughters  were  in  service  in  France  and 
were  now  sleeping  quietly  and  knew  of 
nothing  ;  her  eldest,  who  was  married, 
and  her  husband  and  the  children  came 
only  once  a  year  to  see  their  father ;  and 
even  then  .  .  .  And  now  they  would  find 
him  dead. 

Her   harvest  .  .  .  and  she   was   alone 
now,    to    get   it    in.     Warten    would    go 
3i7 


The  Path  of  Life 

to  the  priest  early  in  the  morning  and 
to  the  carpenter  :  the  priest  ought  to 
have  been  here,  'twas  a  comfort  after 
all ;  but  Zeen  had  always  been  good  and 
.  .  .  now  to  go  dying  all  at  once  like 
this,  without  the  sacraments.   .  .  . 

Why  couldn't  she  sleep  now  ?  She 
was  so  tired,  so  worn  out  with  that 
reaping  ;  and  it  was  so  warm  here,  so 
stifling  and  it  smelt  queer  :  what  a  being 
could  come  to,  when  he  was  dead ! 

Had  she  slept  at  all  ?  She  had  been 
lying  there  so  long  .  .  .  and  there  was 
that  smell  !  She  wished  she  had  sent 
Warten  away  and  gone  herself  to  lie  in 
the  goat-house  ;  here,  beside  that  corpse 
.  .  .  but,  after  all,  it  was  Zeen.  .  .   . 

The  flame  of  the  candle  flickered  and 
everything  flickered  with  it — the  loom, 
the  black  rafters  and  the  crucifix — in 
dark  shadow-stripes  upon  the  wall. 
'Twas  that  kept  her  awake.  She  sat 
up  and  blew  from  where  she  was,  but 
318 


The  End 

the  flame  danced  more  than  ever  and 
kept  on  burning.  Then  she  carefully 
stepped  across  Zeen  and  nipped  out  the 
candle  with  her  fingers.  It  was  dark 
now.  .  .  .  She  strode  back  into  bed, 
stepping  on  Zeen's  leg  ;  and  the  corpse 
shook  and  the  stomach  rumbled.  She  held 
herself  tucked  against  the  wall,  twisted 
and  turned,  pinched  her  eyes  to,  but 
did  not  sleep.  The  smell  got  into  her 
nose  and  throat  and  it  became  very 
irksome,  unbearable.  And  she  got  out 
of  bed  again,  to  open  the  window. 
A  fresh  breeze  blew  into  the  room  ;  far 
away  beyond,  the  sky  began  to  brighten  ; 
and  behind  the  cornfield  she  heard  the 
singing  beat  of  a  sickle  and  the  whistling 
of  a  sad,  drawling  street-ditty  : 

"  They're  at  work  already." 

Now  she  lay  listening  to  the  whizz- 
ing beat  and  the  rustle  of  the  falling 
corn  and  that  drawling,  never-changing 
tune.   .  .  . 

319 


The  Path  of  Life 

The  funeral  would  be  the  day  after 
to-morrow  :  already  she  saw  all  the  troop 
passing  along  the  road  and  then  in  the 
church  and  then  ...  all  alone,  home 
again.  Zeen  was  dead  now  and  she 
remained  .  .  .  and  all  thpse  children, 
her  children,  who  still  had  so  long  to 
live,  would  also  grow  old,  in  their  turn, 
and  die  .  .  .  ever  on  .  .  .  and  all  that 
misery  and  slaving  and  then  to  go  .  .  . 
and  Zeen,  her  Zeen,  the  Zeen  of 
yesterday,  who  was  still  alive  then  and 
not  ill.  Her  Zeen  ;  and  she  saw  him  as  a 
young  man  over  forty  years  ago  :  a  hand- 
some chap  he  was.  She  had  lived  so  long 
with  Zeen  and  had  known  him  so  well, 
better  than  her  own  self ;  and  that  he 
should  now  be  lying  there  beside  her 
.  .  .  cold  .  .  .  and  never  again  .  .  . 
that  he  should  now  be  dead. 

Then  she  broke  down  and  wept. 

THE    END. 


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